


Like Dead Ends

by chchchchcherrybomb



Series: The Desperate Type [1]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Bullying, Connor POV, Depression, Gen, Homophobia, I made Connor kind of a bookworm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Marijuana, Middle School, Not A Happy Ending, Puberty, SO, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Teen Angst, The Desperate Type, also I gave the Harrises a kid and named him Brian and he's a real dick sorry, and no tree bros because they are wee baby children, but he is also thirteen, connor is gay, fight me, middle school fic, this is basically just a bunch of early teens angst with no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-10-25 01:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 53,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10753974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chchchchcherrybomb/pseuds/chchchchcherrybomb
Summary: "We're the kids who feel like dead ends."Connor knew he was probably a bad person. Not like a bad guy in the movies or the villain in a book, not like Voldemort-level bad. But bad.Like he’d already faked sick twice to get out of school in the last month. Since Spring Break. There was only like two months left of school, and Connor just couldn’t go. He was a bad person because he made his mom cry. A lot.  Or, like he’d read Zoe’s diary last week. And somehow got offended when she wrote that she wished Connor wasn’t such a loser because it was making middle school harder for her. He was a loser, though. As if sneaking into his little sister’s room to read her diary didn’t make that obvious. Everyone knew.So when Connor Murphy is paired with Jared Kleinman on a class project, it feels like a nightmare come true.





	1. We're The Kids Who Feel Like Dead Ends.

**Author's Note:**

> Guys. This was supposed to be a middle-school oneshot, but it got SO OUT OF HAND. So. I'm sorry to just bombard you with fic. It will be much shorter though, and updates probably won't be as fast because I genuinely should not be writing this with all the papers I have due. 
> 
> The title comes from "I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth (Summer Song)" by Fall Out Boy because I guess that's the only way I'll name a fic now. 
> 
> You can read this as a prequel to The Desperate Type, but it should stand alone just fine too. 
> 
> Content warning:  
> Depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, bullying, homophobia AND internalized homophobia.

Connor knew he was probably a bad person.

Not like a bad guy in the movies or the villain in a book, not like Voldemort-level bad.

But bad.

Like he’d already faked sick twice to get out of school in the last month. Since Spring Break. There was only like two months left of school, and Connor just couldn’t go.

Like he had smoked a cigarette last year, before he even got his braces off, because some guy from the high school was doing it and Connor just wanted to talk to _somebody_ who wasn’t a teacher or Zoe or his mom and he had said hi to him so Connor did it and it was sort of gross.

Mostly he just coughed a lot. Didn’t say much. Lots of nodding. Weirdly concerned that somehow his orthodontist would take one look at him and know he was doing idiotic things likes smoking cigarettes and then the orthodontist would tell his mom and she would cry because whenever he did anything stupid she just cried.

He was a bad person because he made his mom cry. A lot.  

Or, like he’d read Zoe’s diary last week. And somehow got offended when she wrote that she wished Connor wasn’t such a loser because it was making middle school harder for her.

He _was_ a loser, though. As if sneaking into his little sister’s room to read her diary didn’t make that obvious.

Everyone knew.

Freaking Brian Harris knew it too. They used to hang out, back in like the fifth grade, because in the fifth grade being family friends was basically being friends. Then Brian got really into volleyball and knocking people’s books out of their arms.

And Connor was a bad person because he said nothing when Brian did that. To other people. To him. Connor was pretty sure he saw Brian and some other idiots drag that really quiet kid Evan into the bathroom the other day. He didn’t see the quiet kid after that. He heard a rumor that Brian had dunked Evan’s head in the toilet.

Connor didn’t say anything. Didn’t even pull the baby move and tattle to his parents or teachers.

Instead he had kind of messed up fantasies about Brian suddenly crashing his bike and needed stitches or Brian running headlong into a wall during outdoor gym class or Brian breaking his leg skiing because he thought he was good enough to handle a blue run when he could barely stop.

It wasn’t that he wanted to hurt Brian.

He just thought it might be nice if Brian suddenly got hurt. On accident.

Just enough that he wouldn’t be knocking books out of Connor’s hands anymore.

Or anybody else’s.

Not that he cared about anyone else. Not that any of them would even talk to Connor. Protip: if you throw a printer at your teacher in the second grade, nobody will talk to you anymore.

Nobody did and nobody would. Not even if he managed to grow, like, two feet overnight and woke able to magically kick Brian Harris’s ass and get him to stop being a jerk to everyone even the teachers.

The other kids just didn’t like Connor. Even if he like, stopped the reign of Brian Harris terror… They’d probably just be all, “OhmyGod, did you you see that Connor Murphy’s like a weird giant-hulk person now? Like, how much weirder can you get?”

A lot, Connor thought.

Weird enough that when you stopped thinking about weird accidents for your enemies, you started thinking about them for yourself.

Like it would be really great if someone t-boned the school bus at the exact spot where Connor was sitting and somehow the seat in front and back of him were empty so he was the only who got hurt or…

Died, even.

Then people would probably just start lying and saying that they were his friend, like what happened with that girl Laura in the fourth grade. She got pulled out of school because she had cancer. She died sometime in the summer before fifth grade. Everybody said that they were totally Laura’s best friend, even though Connor had only ever seen her hang out sometimes with Alana Beck.

Now it sounded like he wanted cancer.

There had been about three weeks last year when his gums started bleeding when he brushed his teeth so he googled it and like, bleeding gums could be a sign of leukemia. Or gum disease, which you could get from smoking. Which he had done now. Please see: being a bad person.

If he got leukemia he could probably just get out of school forever.

If he had gum disease his dad would absolutely ground him until college.

Though maybe if he was grounded forever his dad would chill out with the comments on Connor’s hair, his grades, the fact that he was always reading but never doing homework, his shoes (which weren’t anything even weird - just some black Converse, though Larry seemed to think the fact that Connor had drawn on them made him some kind of freak)...

His dad pretty much commented on everything about Connor.

Like, Zoe doodled a butt ton of stars on her pants, and it was so creative and adorable and _wasn’t Zoe just the best?_

And Connor scribbled a few trees and some song lyrics on his stuff, and he didn’t appreciate the shoes that Larry worked “ _so hard to give him, I give you everything Connor, don’t you know that people out there don’t even have shoes have shoes, why do you have to wreck everything?”_

Why _did_ he have to wreck everything?

* * *

 

Thursday morning. Breakfast. His mom insisted on breakfast together. She had to be up for… Connor thought it was hot yoga now? He couldn’t keep track. His dad had to work. He and Zoe had to go to school.

“Connor.”

He was sort of ignoring his dad.

“I thought you said you were going to shower last night.” His father said it irritably over his blackberry, eyes never leaving the phone.

“Yeah, sorry, forgot.”

He didn’t forget. But the second he closed his bedroom door he couldn’t imagine getting out of bed.

“Honey we talked about this,” his mom said, sighing. “You've got to make sure you're doing that regularly. Especially if you want to keep your hair longer. Otherwise it gets so greasy.”

He finished his cereal saying nothing.

“Also, sweetie… you wore those clothes yesterday.”

Connor said something to the effect of literally nothing. He’d slept in them. See: not wanting to get out of bed.

“Don’t roll your eyes at your mother,” His dad snapped.

“Connor. Go upstairs and do it now. You’ve got some time.”

Connor eyed the clock. “I’ll miss the bus.”

“Your dad can drop you on his way to work.”

“Cynthia, I’ve got a meeting-”

“He’ll be fast. Connor, upstairs. And brush your teeth.”

“Can’t I just do it later?”

“Connor, _please_.”

Zoe rolled her eyes at him.

Bitch.

Connor dragged himself out of his chair, making sure to stomp loudly up the steps.

It wasn’t that he was opposed to showers, really.

It was just.

He was tired.

Just really tired.

He’d been in bed all night but he didn’t really sleep. Mostly he read. He was finishing some book the librarian had mentioned to another teacher needed to be placed on shelf in the back so that kids had to get permission to check it out because the school board was talking about banning it. Connor took it out immediately, before he needed a permission slip because he knew his dad would make a fuss and his mom would want to know why he wanted to read the book.

He didn’t know why the book was such a big deal.

There were some swear words, he guessed. And the girl in it had gone to a party and called the cops. 

The girl in the book was weird. Connor liked her. He wondered if she was based on a real person. If that person would look at him in disgust like literally all of the other girls at school did.

Thirteen was probably too old to still have imaginary friends.

But it wasn’t like he was having conversations out loud with some weird high school freshman called Melinda who had to draw trees for an art class.

He just.

Sometimes he pretended that if she was real she might smile at him sometimes in the halls. And then he could smile back. And things wouldn’t be so bad.  

* * *

 

He did try to shower quickly. But then he had to pick out new clothes, and he came downstairs with wet hair and a t-shirt his aunt had gotten him that had some old band’s name on it. He’d never heard the band, but he liked the shirt because it was black and way too big on him.

“You’re not wearing that.”

Connor blinked. His dad had his arms crossed. His dad was so tall. Connor thought he should ask if he had always been tall or if seventh-grade shrimpiness was genetic.

“Go upstairs and change. That looks like a dress on you.”

Connor blinked again.

“Now, Connor.”

He stomped back to his bedroom, hands balled into tight fists, wondering what it would be like to punch something because he thought he would really like to punch something right now. He used to throw things a lot, when he was younger, but his mom cried about it and once his dad slapped his face and said he couldn't do it again so Connor stopped throwing things around them when he could help it. 

Sometimes he couldn't help it.

Connor pulled some maroon long sleeve shirt his mom was always trying to get him to wear even though he didn’t really like long sleeves from his dresser.

Dropped the Nirvana t-shirt to the floor.

Changed.

Took a few seconds to glance in the mirror.

Not great.

Fine.

The massive pimple on his forehead was mostly hidden behind his hair at least.

His jeans looked okay, despite the hole in the knee. His hair was wet so it was probably going to do that weird curling thing around his ears. Shoes would piss his dad off but, frankly, everything he did or said or wore pissed his dad off.

Connor took his time coming down the stairs.

His dad was looking like he might lay an egg.

“What were you doing up there, fixing your makeup? You’re making me late.”

Connor said nothing. He’d worn eyeliner _once_ and it was Halloween last year when he got dressed up at the house and pretended to go trick or treating with people so his mom wouldn’t get all weird and worried. Last time she said something about how he had basically no friends she had also started talking about, like, therapy.

Which was exactly what he needed, to go get his head shrunk and then have everyone at school find out and tease him about it.

That Halloween, Connor just hung out in the wooded area outside of the park near the house reading until it got too dark and too cold. On his way home he stopped at a house three blocks over that belonged to this jerk Toby who was two years above him who had once made some sleezy comment about Zoe (who was, like, _ten_ at the time) _and_ had popped the tires on Connor’s bike at the end of the school year in the fifth grade. They’d left out a bucket full of candy outside with a sign saying “Please take one.”

So Connor took it all to appease his mom who would definitely notice if he hadn’t gotten any candy when he claimed he was out trick or treating.

He also smashed all of the pumpkins outside of the house.

Just because.

“Damn it, Connor, and put your glasses on. I don’t need another note from your math teacher saying you can’t see the board.”

He grabbed his backpack from where had left it next to the door the day before. Took out the case in the front pocket with his stupid new glasses. He hated them. They made his ears look massive and they gave him headaches.

Connor zipped the bag closed fast, like it might bite him. His stomach kind of flipped.

He hadn’t touched his homework last night. Too tired when he got home. He just read

instead.

He’d probably get a lunch detention. Which was fine, because then it meant Connor didn’t have to sit alone in the cafeteria.

Especially since the debacle last week, the other kids were on high alert for more reasons to laugh at each other.

The eighth graders were working on some project for their health class where they all had to pretend to be married.

And there were two more girls than boys in the class.

And these two girls got paired together, because like gay marriage was legal in this state, and, anyway, apparently their assignment included a public fake-proposal.

Which.

Naturally it was a nightmare.

And because Connor was a bad person, when one of the girls turned all red and burst out of the cafeteria in tears, he laughed right along with everyone else. Because well. He was just a bad person who laughed at girls who cried, he guessed.

And then Brian Harris, who was next to him in the lunch line, heard him laugh and said something like, “What are you laughing at, faggot? I thought fags and dykes were supposed to be friends.”

Which.

If Connor got caught saying anything like that, he’d probably have gotten detention for a month. Or in school suspension. Or expelled because of the B.S. “no tolerance policy” the school had.

But Brian Harris could just say that stuff, out loud, with everyone around listening, and the teachers would turn a blind eye because Brian’s parents, like, paid for all of the new classrooms on the west side of the school.

“Connor, hey, are you awake? I said let’s go.”

Right.

“Seatbelt.”

Connor pulled his seatbelt on as his dad took off for the school. Speeding a little. The clock on the dash told Connor he was already late for first hour. If his mom had driven he might have been able to fake a headache and get the day off.

His dad would send him to school with a hole in his head.

“Damn it,” His dad mumbled as they caught another red light. “Damn it. I told her I had a _meeting_.”

“I mean it’s not like they’d fire you if you’re late.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

And then, _of course_ , his voice cracked.

His dad looked at him sharply.

Smirking.

Crap.

“Eh, so that’s finally happening then?”

This was exactly why he was trying not to talk as much. Connor shrugged but his dad had his eyes on the road.

“Don’t worry, it won’t last forever.”

“Hmm.”

“So, any girls catching your eye at school these days?”

Nope.

Nada.

Just imaginary ones.

And even those, Connor mostly just imagined like… maybe being friends.

“Not..” he cleared his throat. “Not really.”

“Well, I’m sure that’ll be next. When it happens, I can teach you all of my moves. Like how I landed your mom.”

Connor was fairly certain that his dad landed his mom drunk in college. So. He couldn’t _wait_ to hear his dad’s advice on girls.

* * *

 

His English teacher, his _favorite_ teacher, Mr. Weston, had betrayed him.

“We’re doing a group project. You will each pick a book, read it, discuss it with your partner, and do a presentation in three weeks.”

The whole class groaned.

 _Please don’t make us pick our own groups,_ Connor thought, _If we have to pick our own groups nobody will pick me even though I have the best grade in this class and then I’ll have to force myself on some other loser and it will suck._

“Come on guys, it’s not so bad. I’ll let you pick your own partners this time...” Mr. Weston smiled. “The only rule is that you can’t have worked with them before this semester.”

_Crap._

“Alright, pair up. I’ll give each pair a list of books to pick from. And no, Jared, you _can’t_ pick a graphic novel. We’re learning about words here people! No picture books!”

Connor was trying to determine if he could safely jump out the second floor window.

He was also trying to decide if he wanted to do it safely or splatter all over the sidewalk.

Everyone moved around the room. Connor stayed put, sort of doodling in his notebook. Nobody was going to pick him, obviously, and if he asked anyone they would laugh and he hated it when people laughed at him. He hated it. So much. Like the only time he ever remembered actually pushing Zoe was because she was cracking up when his mom insisted on buying him that stupid suit for all of the bar mitzvahs that he was super not getting invited to.

“Hey, knock knock, four-eyes, you got a partner yet?”

Connor blinked. Jared Kleinman, who he had known since pre-kindergarten, who had had glasses for at _least_ that long, who he wasn’t positive had ever spoken to him before, wanted to be his partner?

“What?”

“You deaf too now, Helen Keller? _Do-you-have-a-partner_ for this stupid project?”

“No.” Connor crossed his arms over his chest. Suspicious.

“You’ve got an A in this class, right?” Jared said, eyeing Connor.

“Yeah. So?”

“My mom said I have to get my grade to at least a B+ this semester or she’s taking away my laptop. So.” He smiled like this was the world’s most brilliant plan. “That cool?”

Connor looked a little helplessly toward Mr. Weston, like he might swoop in and say that Connor was allowed to do the project alone.

“Fine,” Connor said when it was clear nobody was going to save him from Jared Kleinman.

Jared did like a half-smile, half-eye roll thing and sat in the desk beside Connor’s. Off to a great start.

Mr. Weston handed a book list to Connor saying, “This shouldn’t be an issue. I know you’ve read most of these.”

Connor felt his face heat up.

Jared rolled his eyes, snatching up the list. “Great. Which one of these is the shortest?”

Connor eyed the list.

He’d read all of them, save for _Speak,_ which he was halfway through.

“Most of them are pretty short…”

Jared looked impatient. “Which one is the least boring then?”

Connor couldn’t answer that. _Jacob Have I Loved_ was probably the most boring, but the least boring? That was impossible to answer. It wasn’t that none of them were boring. They just… weren’t books that he could see Jared Kleinman reading.

The fact was that a lot of the narrators were girls.

And Connor couldn’t picture that Jared Kleinman could relate to a girl character.

Was it weird that Connor could related to girl characters? Probably. Connor was a loser like that who just… was probably supposed to be a girl or something.

“What’s this one? About a bridge?”

Connor frowned. “Oh, it’s… um. It’s about this kid, and he uh… makes friends with this weird girl?” He uncrossed his arms. He squeezed his fist closed. “It’s uh… the kids are in, like, fifth grade though? So, I dunno if that…”

“Is it short?”

Connor nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty short.”

“Cool, let’s read about some lame fifth graders.”

Connor nodded.  “Okay.”

Jared sauntered over to Mr. Weston, saying there were going to read the bridge book. Mr. Weston looked surprised. “Let me know what you think of that one Jared.”

Connor thought… He wasn’t being intentionally a jerk by not saying that Leslie dies, right? He was just… he didn’t want to spoil the book. Or something.

Maybe he should. He was a bad person, maybe bad people didn’t care about spoiling the ending of books.

Maybe he was so lame that he didn’t want to jeopardize the possibility of getting Jared to be nice to him.

Basically it was that.

“Okay, so we need to read it first obviously,” Jared said. “Unless you just want to tell me what happens?”

Connor crossed his arms again. “Seriously.”

“Okay, okay, lighten up. Fine. I’ll read it.”

Connor didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms tighter.

“Like… less than two hundred pages.”

“Two hundred?” Jared said, eyes wide, loud enough that people looked at them.

“It’s like the shortest book on the list…” Connor muttered.

“This sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re gonna take notes, right? Like you can take notes and send them to me about the book?”

“Um. No. I’m not taking all of the notes.”

“Fine, _I’ll_ take notes too. Jeeze. Don’t look at me with your judgey nerd eyes. Why don’t we set up a google doc so we can share notes as we write them, okay? Just so you don’t show up at my house shouting about how I’m not pulling my weight.”

Connor glared.

“I’m kidding. I’ll take notes, okay. Can I make a google doc or what?”

“Sure.”

“What’s your email?”

Connor told him; Jared typed it into his phone.

“Okay, right, so we’ll read the short book about the fifth graders this week. We can start on the powerpoint next week.”

“Sure, yeah.”

“I’m going to ask Mr. Weston to go to the library,” Jared said, “I’m assuming you have the book already?”

Connor did. He just nodded.

“Cool. Well. Catch you later Connor.”

Connor wondered when the last time someone who wasn’t an adult had said his name in front of him. It sounded weird. Like it didn’t belong to him.

Connor felt his phone buzz. He pulled it out because it never, ever buzzed during the school day, and his curiosity could beat the crap out of his patience.

It was an email. From Jared. Sharing a google doc.

The body of the email said, “Wasn’t this a movie? Could I just watch the movie?”

Connor emailed back, “No.”

“Whatever, nerd. I’ll read the book. It better not suck.”

Maybe Jared wasn’t so bad. Maybe…

Connor didn’t really want to think about the maybes. He knew that maybes only left you disappointed.

* * *

 

Friday morning.

He had gym class on Fridays.

Even though he had been changing for gym for almost three years now, it never got

easier. If you changed in front of people they could see you in your underwear. If you went in a stall then they knew you were chicken.

Solution: Change fast.

Problem: Sometimes fast isn’t fast enough.

Brian Harris was in his gym class. Brian Harris decided that today was a good day to point out that Connor had a birthmark on his lower back. Brian Harris called it a tramp stamp.

Connor tried to just pull his Nirvana t-shirt on and ignore him, but apparently Brian Harris didn’t like being ignored.

“Hey! I’m talking to you! When did you get a tramp stamp, Connor?”

He just tried to focus on pulling on his jeans.

“Hey!” Brian pushed him into the bank of lockers. “Come on, Connor, when’d you get that?”

“Shut up,” Connor mumbled, voice cracking, just. He was still in his socks, his jeans were still unzipped, he was almost six inches shorter than Brian.

“What did you say to me?” Brian shoved him again.

“Shut up,” Connor said, again, louder, reckless.

He got shoved back again and again, and then Brian’s idiot friends got involved and then he was being dragged to the stalls, they were taunting him saying that girls couldn’t change in the boys’ room, and then. Well he had no chance against four of them, nothing, no words, no actions, it’s not like he could throw a punch. And well.

Well Connor stopped struggling when they shoved his head into the toilet. His temple smacked against the filthy toilet seat as they pushed him down.

He just.

Went limp.

Gave up.

_Sure, flush my head down the toilet._

_Sure. Drown me. Just do it. I don’t care._

“Fuck, did you smack his head?”

“Shit, shit. Is he knocked out?”

“Shit, pull him out, _stop fucking laughing Brian_ we’ll get into so much shit-”

Someone yanked him out by his shirt collar. He kept his eyes closed, pretending, letting them sweat it out.

The bell rang.

They ran off.

Connor just stayed on the floor. His hair was wet. He had no idea where his glasses had ended up.

Maybe if he just stayed on the floor and never moved he could just die. Reset reality. Give the _fuck_ up.

“Oh damn it.”

Connor heard the voice of the asshole gym teacher in the locker room. He kept his eyes closed.

“Hansen, what is the matter with you?”

“That’s why I got you, Mr. Bryant, he’s… I dunno having a seizure or something.” Jared’s voice.

“What’s Murphy doing on the floor?”

Connor assumed that Jared shrugged or something because the next thing that happened was Mr. Bryant slapping the side of his face. “Hey, hey! Murphy, eyes open.”

He opened them. Because otherwise he’d probably keep getting smacked.

“What happened?”

“I went for a swim,” Connor said sarcastically.

“They… uh. They sh-shoved his head in a toilet.” A pause. “I think he hit his head.”

Connor blinked. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard Evan Hansen talk. He sort of thought the kid was mute. His face was all red and he had totally been crying, and Connor didn’t really know what was about since he was the one getting his ass kicked, and he seemed to be breathing weirdly.

“Who?” Mr. Bryant had just left Connor sitting on the floor in a puddle.

Evan Hansen was apparently smart enough not to name names. He just tugged at the hem of his shirt.

Connor had to admit he respected that. It only made things worse if you got labeled a tattle tale.

“Well come on, you’re both going to the nurse.”

Connor wasn’t going to argue. Maybe he’d get to go home. He grabbed his shoes from his locker, stuffing his feet into them without bothering to untie and tie them.

Evan, however, started stuttering about how totally fine he was even though he started crying again and didn’t seem to be able to catch his breath. Mr. Bryant did not buy this, apparently. The gym teacher walked them across the whole school, dropping Jared at their next hour biology class on the way. Since apparently being thirteen meant you couldn’t walk between classrooms alone.

Probably some kind of weird school shooter policy.

Or because every single time Connor was allowed to do that he would take like twenty minutes wandering the halls.

Mr. Bryant talked to the nurse for a few minutes, while Connor dripped toilet water everywhere and Evan Hansen hyperventilated next to him.

Should he do something about that, say something? It was pretty freaking annoying but like, what did you do for that? Was breathing into a paper bag a real thing? Where would they keep a paper bag in the nurse’s office?

Mr. Bryant left without looking at either of them.

“Okay, Evan, come on back, and I’ll give you the medication your mom left for you, okay? You can stay until it kicks in.”

Connor watched Evan rushed off to the little cubicle while the nurse got him one of those weird paper cones full of water cooler water.

Connor didn’t, like, sit in the waiting area. Because he was dripping toilet water everywhere. He wished someone would have gotten him a towel. Or like a paper napkin or something. The water had started running down the back of his shirt and it was sort of cold because the school had turned on the air conditioner in the classrooms that had air conditioning.

Evan walked back, looking miserable but no longer crying, and the nurse gave Connor a once over and said, “What happened to you? Mr. Bryant said you hit your head?”

Connor sighed. “I did. On the toilet seat.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did someone…?”

Connor said nothing.

“Okay, come on back… I’ll check you out and see if we need to call your mom.”

She had him sit in a chair, and (finally), handed him a small hand towel to mop up some of the water from his toilet diving excursion.

She checked his eyes. Asked him if he really lost consciousness.

He hadn’t, but Connor said he had just because he thought that might score him a sick day.

“Okay, well, I think I’ll call your mom. You might have a concussion.”

He tried his best to look indifferent to this news.

“You’ll probably need to go to a doctor.”

Frankly, Connor didn’t really care. He’d take the doctor over school any day.

The nurse told him to have a seat in the waiting area. She looked at Evan and said, “Let me know if he starts slurring his speech or anything. I’ll be right back.” She turned out into an office to make the phone call.

Connor just sat there.

He wondered if his glasses had ended up in the toilet.

He was so not wearing freaking toilet glasses.

Evan Hansen kept sort of looking at him and then looking away fast and Connor sighed like Jesus did he have to be nice to this kid now? Were they some kind of brother-in-swirly now that Brian Harris had fucked with both of them?

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Thanks. For. Y’know. Not saying who.”

Evan nodded. “Yeah.” And then he blinked a few times and said. “Oh.” He pulled Connor’s glasses out of his pocket. “They fell by my locker.”

Connor took them, careful to avoid touching Evan’s outstretched hand because he was gross and covered in toilet water. “Thanks.”

* * *

 

Connor’s mom cried when she picked him up. She had made him go home and shower and change before she would take him to the doctor that he probably didn’t need. And he got to fed up he told her that Brian Harris had shoved his head in the toilet. “Brian wouldn’t do that,” His mom protested from the driver’s seat.

“You two are best friends!”

“Were,” Connor corrected.

“Well, when did that happen?”

“Two years ago, mom. _God._ ”

“Well then who are you hanging out with? Who do you sit with at lunch? I thought you said-”

“I lied. Obviously.”

“But Connor, _why_ ? Why wouldn’t you tell me that…?” She couldn’t even finish the sentence, couldn’t even spit out _“that you have no friends.”_ He didn’t blame her. It was so embarrassing.

“Because I didn’t want to do _this_.”

“Do what?”

“This thing where you get all upset and cry.”

“Connor, I want you to tell me about these things, I want to help you-”

“How?” He said. Yelled. He caught a look at himself in the side mirror. His face was so red. He actually did have a bruise forming near where he hit his head. “How are you going to help, mom? Call every kid in school and demand that they hang out with me? What?”

His mother fell silent.

But the feeling that he had won an argument for once didn’t last.

* * *

 

Turned out he actually did have a concussion.

Zoe thought that was hilarious.

His head hurt a lot, which made reading sort of hard. He still managed to reread _Bridge to Terabithia._

The ending had made him cry the first time he read it, in the fifth grade. He was torn up about it for days. He even insisted on hanging out with Zoe for a while because it suddenly felt like she could just disappear any second. Gone in a flash. He yelled at her if she so much as looked at her bike without a helmet.

The ending was still sad, but this time he didn’t really feel much about it.

* * *

 

Sunday afternoon, while he was taking notes on the shared document (that Jared hadn’t touched yet), some jumbled thoughts about how important being a girl or a boy was in the book, Connor got an email.

“You seriously don’t have a facebook? What are you, Amish?”

Connor’s heart thudded to a stop.

His brain stopped functioning.

_Jared wanted to add him on facebook?_

How did he respond to that? Was he just supposed to go make a facebook? He didn’t have one because the only people he would add would be a few cousins and maybe Zoe if he managed not to embarrass her for a few days. No thanks. Nightmare.

He wasn’t just going to make a facebook for Jared.

Was he?

He wasn’t.

He wrote back, “Mennonite, actually. Totally different.”

And Jared wrote back, “lol. Dude, that was funny. Who knew you were funny?”

And Connor didn’t say anything back because he just knew he would ruin it.

He got another email a few hours later. This one read, “Sorry you got your ass kicked Friday.”

And Connor.

Kind of.

Smiled.

It almost made the idea of Monday… not terrible.

“Thanks, dude.”


	2. Comparing Myself to Everyone Else Around Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larry makes a mistake, Connor decides to try to seem normal, and Jared is a slow reader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a note there will be some more mention of homophobia and internalized homophobia this chapter. And an implied attempt at self harm. Please take care of yourselves!

Connor’s mom let him stay in bed all day on Saturday. Because he was meant to rest due to the concussion.

He finished the book _Speak_ the night before when he was supposed to be sleeping. His eyes just wouldn’t stay closed. He had to pretend to get woken up every couple of hours by his mom so they could make sure his brain wasn’t actually broken or something. He didn’t know. He barely slept.

That girl, in the book, Melinda? She got raped at a party.

So there was a reason she was messed up.

And then at the end she was getting better, people noticed her, and the ending was kind of happy. Her old best friend called her.

Connor felt like a dick because he was kind of pissed off about it. See, this is why he was a bad person because he was pissed off at a fictional character for having a reason to be messed up. When he read it, Connor was angry. But not for the right reasons. He was almost mad that he knew what had happened. He wasn’t mad about that guy Andy being disgusting and hurting this girl, he was mad that...

Connor sort of wished she was messed up just because she was messed up. Like he was.

Maybe _nobody_ was messed up just because they were messed up, like Connor was. Maybe he was just that much of a freak that he was all screwed up and miserable all the time, but everyone else who was miserable had reasons to be miserable.

Connor thought a lot about Melinda’s mom in the book. How she didn’t seem to know what was going on, how she seemed really annoyed with Melinda about everything, how she was disappointed Melinda had become so different.

Were his parents like that? Connor wondered.

Maybe they were… just clueless.

He wondered what would happen if he just walked up to his mom right now and said, “Mom, sometimes I want to stop existing and my head is all broken and everything hurts and I can’t fix it and I’m starting to wonder if any of this is even real, if I’m even real, like, you’d tell me if I was imaginary right?”

He wondered if there was a place worse than a mental hospital that they could put him.

He also thought about Melinda’s parents noticed her drawing and getting her a sketchbook for Christmas.

They noticed.

And a lump formed in his throat.

Connor was pretty sure he could write out “I kind of wish I had never been born” in his own blood in his parents’ bedroom and they would look at it and not comprehend the meaning.

At least her parents knew something wasn’t right. They paid attention, even if it wasn’t much.

He was jealous of a fictional character’s kind of shitty parents. That’s how low he’d sunk now, petty jealousies over imaginary people.

The night before he had reread the scene where Melinda hurt herself with a paperclip.

He wondered what that felt like.

If it made her feel better even for a second.

He found a paperclip in his dad’s home office. But he must not have pressed down hard enough because he never broke the skin.

* * *

Monday morning. Breakfast.

This time Connor showered and changed his clothes without complaint to try to avoid the long looks his dad had been giving him all weekend (at least, the couple of times his dad was at home).

“Connor.”

His dad was growling across the table. Connor stared at his breakfast (his mom had made eggs and waffles and toast and there was a bunch of fruit too… she’d probably read something online about breakfast being so much more important than previously thought). He wasn’t hungry, but he kept moving the food around, forcing down the occasional bite.

“Watching your figure?” Zoe said through a mouthful of food, smirking at him.

“Screw you.”

“Connor, language,” His mom snapped.

His dad, of course, wasn’t giving up. “Connor. Come talk to me in the garage.”

It wasn’t a question.

So Connor shoved away from the table, leaving most of his food uneaten.

His dad followed.

Into the garage.

Connor wondered, hilariously, darkly, if his dad was going to kick his ass too. He hadn’t been around all weekend really. He was out golfing a lot.

“Your mom told me you got in a fight with Brian Harris.”

Of course she did.

Of course he waited to say something until right before school.

And of course in his dad’s mind it was a fight, not an epic asskicking resulting in a concussion.  

“Look, you have to fight back, Connor. If Brian’s going to be an asshole, you have to be one back or he’ll never respect you.”

Connor thought the possibility of respect was long gone.

“I’m not gonna fight with Brian,” He mumbled.

“Is it because you don’t know how?”

Well of course it fucking was. Plus that whole thing where Brian was massive, a mountain, and Connor was like… a fallen twig or something.

“Make a fist,” Larry was saying.

“ _No_.”

“Connor, make a fist.”

He rolled his eyes. And made a fist. The way he did when he was trying not to start throwing stuff. Clenched tightly into a ball.

“No, no, thumb on the outside.”

Connor uncurled his hand. Reformed a fist with his thumb on the outside.

“Better.” Larry nodded to himself. “Now, when you throw a punch… you want to land it with the knuckles of your first two fingers. Otherwise you can break your hand.”

Connor nodded numbly. Sure. Like he’d ever _actually_ hit anyone. Like he could ever live that down when he was still carrying around the stupid printer thing after five years. Like he wouldn't be immediately murdered if he tried. 

“Now, I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”

Connor shook his head, like, no. No chance. No way. “I’m not gonna do that.”

“It’s not like you’re gonna hurt me, I’ve got ninety pounds on you. Go for it.”

“ _Dad_.”

“Come on, you were always throwing things when you got angry before. Get angry. Now's the time. Come on! Hit me!”

Connor thought, suddenly, that he might cry and he had no idea what that was about but his throat burned and his eyes burned and he just wanted to leave.

His dad shoved him, not hard but still. Pushed his shoulders enough that he had to take a step back not to fall. “Come on. Don’t be a _pussy,_ Connor. You have to learn to defend yourself or they’ll never leave you alone. You can’t just act like a girl about this and say shit back to them or curl up and cry. You’ve got to hit them back. You can’t just...”

Connor’s dad kept talking, but the noise had sort of faded to a dull whine. Now he was getting this crap from his dad too? _Really_ ? Now he was getting it at home as well, now it was just a bunch of never ending crap and garbage and Connor might be a bad person but he didn’t mean to be he didn’t _ask for any of this_ -

“Connor, what the hell?” His dad shoved him, hard, backward, and Connor went sprawling, landing hard on the concrete floor and why was his dad’s mouth bleeding, what-what had happened?

His dad shook his head, spitting blood on the concrete. _Blood._ He looked down at Connor, breathing heavily, furious.

Oh no.

Crap. Crap crap.

Crap.

His dad was literally going to kill him then and there.

His dad shook his head again, and then his face changed. He was smiling. Impressed almost. “Well. I guess you can throw a punch after all.” He sounded almost… proud.

Connor’s hands were shaking and his knuckles hurt. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

But his dad was smiling widely, like Connor had done something very very right. There was some blood in his teeth. “If Brian comes after you again, just do that. He won’t bother you anymore.”

“S-sure.”

* * *

Connor’s hands didn’t stop shaking until third hour.

And even then…

What kind of a freak hits their dad? He knew kids who got hit _by_ their dads. He knew kids who got hit.

He didn’t know anybody who would hit their dad.

Damn it.

* * *

 

“What are you always reading?”

Jared slid into the seat next to Connor in their English class.

Connor stuffed the book back into his bag. It was called _The Realm of Possibility,_ and it was written like a bunch of unrhyming poems. He picked it up because he was too scared to check out the other book by the author on the shelf at the library. Called _Boy Meets Boy._

He wasn’t even going to think about why he had been itching to pick that up. He just wasn’t. Especially not at school where he was starting to suspect all of his stupid thoughts were actually reading like a CNN scroll across his forehead.

“Just… books,” Connor said to Jared, sort of dismissive. “Why?”

“How do you have time to read so much?”

Connor ignored the question. Because pointing out that having no friends really opened up your schedule was probably not something you did with someone you wanted to be your friend.  

Instead he said, “Did you finish the book yet?”

Jared rolled his eyes. “Hell no. I was busy.”

Connor said nothing.

And Jared sighed. “Alright fine, I didn’t do anything _cool_ . I’m getting bar mitzvahed in a couple of weeks so my parents are on me to practice my Hebrew.” 

Again, Connor said nothing. He didn’t know anything about bar mitzvahs. Just that he had never been invited to one.

“I read like. The first fifty pages?”

“Right.”

“It was okay. Are these people Southern? In the book.”

Connor shrugged. “I guess? I think they are supposed to live near D.C.”

Jared nodded. “How come that girl Leslie is so, like, weird? Is she supposed to be a lesbian? She has short hair.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “She’s like ten or eleven. I don’t think she’s _meant_ to be anything.”

“But wouldn’t you, like, know? If you were gay, don’t you like just know by the time you’re like eleven?”

Connor bit his tongue.

_Jared was making fun of him._

Just.

Fantastic.

“No. I _don’t_ think you just know.”

Jared blinked a few times. Like he was weighing his options. Like he knew whatever he said next might lead to Connor freaking out massively and throwing a desk into the blackboard or something. Not that he'd actually done that.

...Mr. Paisley had tackled him before that happened in fifth grade. 

Jared was sort of smiling at Connor like Connor was the kind of dog that you know bites but you want it not to bite you. “I just thought… like that Lady Gaga song? Born this way? I just thought. You would like, _know_.”

“Right,” Connor said, his breathing a little heavy. “Right.”

“Are you like…?” Jared was looking at him with raised eyebrows. Like despite his better judgement he had to ask. “You’re not like… gay or whatever are you?”

“NO!” Connor practically shouted.

Everyone stopped to look at him.

He bit the inside of his lip until they all looked away again about a minute later. “No,” Connor said, quieter. “I’m not.”

“It’s, like…” Jared started. Then stopped. Shook his head. “Anyway, so, do they like… date? Jesse and Leslie? In the book?"

Connor rolled his eyes. “No. Why? Looking for tips?”

“Heck yes I am. I’ll take all the help I can get.”

Connor kind of smiled. And Jared kind of smiled.

* * *

 

Crap.

Crap.

Why didn’t he just freaking, tell Jared Kleinman, hell, tell the whole school how weird he was and that sometimes he thought about boys kissing? _Like, just announce that you’re probably some gross gay weirdo to everyone. As if you’re not crazy enough already, let’s add to it. Just go ahead and make it worse._

Connor just… he needed to stop letting his mind wander. And he never should have read the back of that book with the boys being gay in the library.

And then the book he _did_ check out had boys who kissed each other anyway.

Kissing. Boys kissing boys.

The thought of it made him blush. God, he was so _weird_. That was gross right? The thought of boys kissing each other? It was definitely gross.

Did Connor want to kiss boys now too? Did that mean when his dad used to kiss him goodnight that he was being all weird and gay about it and now he was forever screwed up because he couldn’t stop thinking about boys kissing each other and if that meant he wanted to kiss boys.

Well.

The idea of kissing anyone was so out of the question for Connor.

But.

Boys kissing was…

On his mind.

A lot.

It was probably super gross that he thought about it.

Like a lot.

Just. So. Gross and messed up and weird.  

And sometimes he had dreams about it too. Not like _sex_ dreams, he wasn’t that much of a creep. But just… dreams about guys. Just. Existing. Talking to him. Sometimes kissing each other (never Connor though, even in his dreams he knew he was way too gross to have someone think about him that way).

He was such a freak.

If his parents ever saw his browser history he’d probably get shipped off to one of those weird bible camps that, like, tried to make you stop being gay by yelling at you all the time and saying you would go to Hell or whatever.

His dad had already said something about some kind of boot camp this summer when Connor got caught ditching gym class to read in the unused auditorium around Christmas.

The internet was no help at all.

Like, Connor couldn’t just Google “how to tell if you’re gay.”

Well, okay, he _could_ and  _did_ do that but it didn’t actually tell him anything.

Half of the stuff that came up was a bunch of jokey quizzes. The other half was porn.

Like, he was curious. He wasn’t _dead_. He watched it. Just to like. See. 

He also watched straight porn and some girls hooking up. Just to see if…

Just to see.

Mostly it just made him feel kind of sick? Like even watching on mute, just watching, was just…

 _Nobody_ looked happy.

Maybe everyone was just as miserable as he was and they all just hid it better until they were having sex.

Or maybe it was just that porn stars were sad people.

Any way, while attempting to figure this out, Zoe like practically broke his door down accusing him of stealing her diary.

Which.

He _did_ technically do that.

Not even _technically_.

He just swiped it from Zoe's desk when he got home because he was pissed off at her.  

Connor had seen her twirling her hair while she talked to Brian Harris in the hallway this afternoon, and it pissed him off.

There was another entry in Zoe’s about how lame he was, but this one included a passage on how hot Brian Harris was too. Which.

Nope. That wasn’t gonna fly.

Anyway, since Zoe was knocking and Connor was just… watching porn on mute, he exited the window as fast as humanly possible. Cleared his entire history. Just in case. She’d gone for his computer before when he’d taken her stuff. He got in a lot of trouble for watching some documentary about a forest in Japan where a lot of people liked to kill themselves.

Fished Zoe’s stupid pink diary out of the shoebox under his bed where he’d hidden it and flipped to the passage about Brian Harris.

When he opened the door he started reading out loud, “Brian is sooooo cute. I can’t believe we used to hang out all the time when we were little. He’s my favorite person ever, especially since he gave my brother a swirly. I want to make out with him even though I’ve never kissed anybody before.”

“Give it back!”

The only thing Connor had going for him at the moment was being taller than Zoe. He held it over her head smirking. “So, Brian’s super hot now? Whatever happened to your crush on Patrick?”

“Shut up! Give me that back, that’s private!”

But Connor just smirked and held it out of her reach, reading out loud again, “I wonder if I could ask him to the Turnabout Dance? At least I know my idiot brother won’t be there. Brian looks like he’d be a really good dancer. He listens to super cool music.” Zoe lunged at him and missed, and Connor took off running, listing all of the terrible country bands that Brian listened to apparently. Zoe was running after him, screaming.

“MOM!” Zoe was shouting, “CONNOR TOOK MY DIARY!”

By the time he rounded a corner down the stairs, Zoe was crying.

Which he thought was a little bit dramatic.

Their mom was on the phone with someone, looking pissed off, and then Zoe tried to tackle him but he was faster so she ran headlong into the couch screaming bloody murder.

He should have stopped teasing her, but he didn’t. She made him feel so stupid, she wrote all the mean crap, _she liked Brian Harris_ , so it was just payback.

Right?

“Mom!” Zoe was yelling. “MAKE HIM GIVE IT BACK!”

“Connor Lawrence,” his mom said absently, phone held to her chest. “Leave your sister alone.”

He rolled his eyes.

Held the diary out in his outstretched hand.

“God, Connor, you are such a _freak_ ,” Zoe muttered, wiping her eyes, reaching for the book.

But that just set him off again and before Zoe could take it out of his hand, Connor yanked it back. Pulled it open.

Started tearing out pages a random.

“CONNOR! Mom, he’s WRECKING MY DIARY!”

His mom said something to the person on the phone and then she was in the middle of them, Zoe was crying and shoving him and Connor was just grabbing pages as fast as he could, ripping them out of the little book, tearing them into pieces, just destroying it because he could because he wanted to because he didn’t want anyone else to see that even his stupid little sister hated him for no reason so he might as well give her one.

His mom tugged the ruined diary out of his hands.

“Go to your room, Connor, you’re grounded.”

He didn’t fight or ask how long he was grounded for. He just went upstairs and slammed the door.

He wondered if he’d be in worse trouble when his dad got home. He wondered if his dad would hit him again, like he had once before, when Connor just threw things whenever he was angry.

Connor sort of hoped his dad might.

He sort of thought that would give him an excuse to hit him back.

His fingers were itching to make contact with something. All day, ever since this morning, he just wanted to hit something, he was so pissed off and it was almost scary because he was so used to just trying to force all of it down so he didn’t throw things but now he couldn’t put a lid on it and he just wanted.

He wanted to hit something. Or someone.

Pro tip: if you punch a wall, it leaves a mark. Well two actually. On the wall and on your hand.

* * *

 

Mr. Weston was in charge of this study hall, at the end of the day. It was normally in the classroom, but Mr. Weston agreed to let everyone go to the computer lab because everyone was working on their presentation. It was the very end of the day; most people were just talking with their partners about what they were doing after school.

But Jared had left early for a doctor’s appointment.

Connor thought the end of the day might be a good time to start practicing being normal.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays Connor spent this hour in jazz band, which was just. Tragic.

He played piano. Took lessons. Had been taking them since he was like six.  The band teacher lost his mind when he found out; drafted Connor into jazz band immediately because they desperately needed a keyboardist.

Connor also had that class with Zoe, who was so advanced at the guitar that she was in the seventh and eighth grade jazz band despite only being a sixth grader.

Embarrassing.

Plus she was friends with, like, all of the girls in that class.

Which was just. Worse.

Bad.

Since Connor wasn’t friends with anyone but girls especially.

He didn’t _get_ girls.

And girls just didn’t talk to him.

Guys talked to him, made fun of him too, but to girls he might as well have been invisible.

Even Becca, who played like literally every instrument and sometimes played the other keyboard and who had literally sat right next to him all year, wouldn’t talk to him. Once he tried to tell her that he liked her shoes, since he did, they had little strawberries on the laces which he thought were cool and that was back during the short time when he was, like, making an effort to talk to people out of sheer desperation. She’d given him the stink eye, and he said nothing else.

But since it was Wednesday, there was no opportunity to be less weird in jazz band. So he was trying to do it in study hall instead.

Since Monday when he freaked out and ripped up Zoe’s diary, Connor had decided he needed to figure out how to be less of a freak ASAP.

Also his dad had been pissed off about it and told him to “get it together.”

Which: fair.

So he hadn’t been reading between classes anymore. For two whole days. It was sort of terrible, not reading, because normally he could sort of zone out and escape during passing periods but. It was this or his mom having a meeting with his guidance counselor to discuss his “difficulties making friends.” Which would literally ensure he would never have any friends ever.

So no more reading.  Instead he just tried to look… normal and nice. Like maybe if he looked normal someone would look at him and realize he was super totally not a weirdo and definitely not gay or anything.

“So.”

Connor looked up from his computer screen. Mr. Weston had pulled up the empty chair beside him.

“Hi,” Connor said, not sure what was happening.

“Just checking in. How’s working with Jared on the group presentation?”

Connor shrugged. “Fine. I guess. He hasn’t finished the book yet, though.”

Mr. Weston nodded. “I figured, since when I asked him he said the book was ‘fine.’”

Connor sort of glanced down at the keyboard.

“I noticed you haven’t been reading between classes…”

He stared at the keyboard extra hard.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Um. It’s fine.”

Mr. Weston heaved a sigh. “I heard about last week in gym class…?”

Connor felt his hands clench involuntarily into fists.

“Is that a thing that has happened before?”

“No.” It’s not _technically_ a lie, because technically speaking Brian Harris had never shoved Connor’s head into a toilet before.

Mr. Weston frowned. “Well. If you need to talk…”

“I don’t,” Connor said because holy shit could Mr. Weston not see he was already making it harder for him? Nobody was ever going to talk to him if teachers lurked and checked in and told him that they were around if he needed to “talk.” Which sounded a little creepy, actually. Like molester-ish. “Thanks.”

Mr. Weston got up. Returned to the teacher’s desk. Resumed typing on his computer.

Connor could practically feel everyone else in the computer lab staring at him.

He hunched lower over his keyboard, typing about how Jesse is embarrassed about his clothes and how being poor or rich was a theme in the book.

* * *

 Friday, after school.

He survived a week. This time without getting concussed or jumped in gym class.

His not-reading strategy seemed to be working. Jared had said “hey” to him in the hall between classes twice today and once yesterday.

As Connor crossed the school’s front yard, he saw someone across the street waving at him.

Admittedly, Connor assumed they were waving at someone else, and he whipped around expecting somebody behind him getting ready with a “Kick Me” sign.

Nobody there.

He squinted across the street since he “forgot” his glasses this morning.

Oh.

It was Jake.

Jake was a sophomore in high school. He smoked cigarettes and drank and dressed in all black. Sometimes he talked to Connor. Once, he got Connor to smoke a cigarette.

Jake was standing next to a girl with hair the color of Ariel’s from the Little Mermaid. Crayon red. Next to her was.

This guy.

Connor hadn’t ever seen him before.

He just.

Looked.

Cool.

He had long dark hair. He was wearing boots. And a black hoodie. His lip was pierced and he was smoking a cigarette.

Connor jogged over to Jake and the other people. “Hey,” He said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Hey. Dudes, this is Connor. He’s rad as hell for a little dude. One time he threw a printer at that cunt Mrs. G.”

“Nice!” said the cool looking guy, and he held his hand out for a high five. Connor high fived him awkwardly.

“This is Aidan and Sarah.”

“Hi,” Connor said sort of breathlessly.

“We’re going to go drink this and throw the bottle at the train,” Aidan said, pulling open his sweatshirt to reveal a huge bottle of beer. “Wanna come?”

Connor looked over his shoulder, back at the school. He couldn’t see Zoe around. Or anyone else he knew. Technically he was grounded, but his mom had been pretty lax about it considering that he ruined Zoe's diary. It was like she didn't actually care. Zoe wasn't speaking to him still, but she wasn't around to tattle. 

“Sure.”

So they set off, these cool older kids and Connor, who was trying not to seem like overly excited about being invited. He had learned from watching other people that acting like you cared was just going to get your ass kicked.

“Smoke?” Jake asked him, holding out a pack.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Dude, where’d you find this kick ass kid?” Sarah asked, smiling at Connor. “He’s baller.”

Connor felt his face flush.

Sarah was sort of… pretty. She had a lot of makeup on, and her nose was pierced twice which sort of confused Connor, but she was smiling at him and. Well.

He smiled back.

Jake handed him a lighter, and Connor got the stupid cigarette lit and inhaled without coughing.

But of course the moment he managed it, as they were crossing back through the middle school grounds, Connor made out the outline of Jared Kleinman, arms crossed. They were supposed to talk after school about their stupid project.

He forgot.

“Hey, hold this, forgot I need to give this kid something, one second.”

Like he was so cool.

Connor ran over to Jared, because he was trying to do this fast. Jared was looking at him suspiciously. “Hey, sorry, I forgot we were meeting,” Connor said, breathless.

Jared’s eyes were narrowed. “Is that Jake Carter?”

Connor shrugged, saying, “Yeah.”

“I heard he does herion.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “That’s stupid.” He blew some of his hair out of his eyes. “So. The project?”

Jared nodded. “I’ve still got to finish the book. Do you want to come over Sunday and we can, like, figure out the power point?”

Connor’s heart almost stopped. “You want me to come over?”

Jared rolled his eyes. “Look, the library isn’t open on Sundays after, like, noon and my parents are wigging out over the project so… Yeah. Can you come over so we can like work on it or whatever?”

“I don’t know where you live.”

“I’ll text you the address.”

“You don’t have my phone number,” Connor said.

Jared looked exasperated. “I’ll freaking email you then.”

Connor blinked. Right. Being not a freak might mean actually giving out his phone number. “No. I… what’s your number? I’ll text you.”

So Jared told him.

And Connor put the number in his phone.

It was the first new contact he had added. The others were all, like, mom, dad, Zoe, his cousin Josh, his grandma.

He texted Jared fast, trying not to overthink it, saying just “hey it’s connor” and leaving it.

“So. Sunday.”

“Yeah.”

Connor nodded, turning to go. “See you-”

“Why do you hang out with those guys?” Jared asked him suddenly.

Connor stopped. Blinked. Shrugged. “Because they asked me to.”

“And you hang out with everyone who asks you to hang out?”

Connor tilted his head to the side a little. “Well… nobody else asks.”

Jared nodded.

And Connor headed back to Jake and Aidan and Sarah, who made fun of him for talking to a baby seventh grader. He got a new cigarette from Jake (who had finished his last one) and the four of them headed down to drink beer at the little park near the train tracks on the other side of town.

Jake and Sarah and Aidan all made fun of Connor. His clothes. His grades (they all thought it was lame that he had so many As). His lame preppy little sister.

Connor might have minded. But they kept passing the bottle back to him.

Which was sort of like having friends.

And then they told him to throw the empty bottle at the first moving train they saw?

Well. He did it. Chucked it with everything he had.

The bottle shattered into a million glittering pieces.

And the others laughed.

And it was sort of like having friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Yes, I decided that Connor's middle name is "Lawrence." Lawrence, as in, a name that Larry is short for. See what I did there? ....I'm sorry. 
> 
> Chapter title is again from "I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth (Summer Song)" by  
> Fall Out Boy. 
> 
> Books mentioned: Bridge to Terabithia, Speak, Boy Meets Boy, and The Realm of Possibility (the last two by David Levithan). 
> 
> Also I'm sorry there are so many OCs? I just wanted to flesh out the world here, and the musical doesn't give us many people to work with. I promise Evan will make another appearance soon! And maybe also Alana? I missed Evan this chapter and Alana so far in this whole fic. :)


	3. Too Damp For a Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared Kleinman claims he hasn't cried since he was nine years old. There is an unfortunate trip to the barbershop featuring Fucking Larry. Connor rips some stars down from his ceiling. Evan is an accidental third wheel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright fuck it, I'm putting this in the same universe as The Desperate Type officially. I was trying to resist but then like 15 things in this chapter relate so... anyway it's still not NECESSARY to read TDT but I'm slapping the series on here because I can and it'll simplify things. #yolo

Connor groaned; his phone was going off at nine am on a Saturday morning and nobody called him ever so clearly this was some kind of nightmare.

The phone finally stopped.

Connor pulled it from the pillow where he had left it.

Stared at it.

Missed call from Jared Kleinman.

Connor squinted at the phone suspiciously.

It had to be a buttdial or something.

He switched the phone to silent and buried his face in his pillows again.

Connor heard the phone vibrate again a moment later. He pulled it out from where it was buried in the blankets and stared at it.

Jared Kleinman. Again.

Connor tapped answer. “Hello?”

“CONNOR WHAT THE FUCK?”

He blinked a few times. “Sorry, what?”

“She DIES? Leslie DIES? Just… she’s dead? That’s it?”

Connor almost smiled. “Did you finish the book then?”

“He just went on a nice totally not pedo-date with his art teacher and comes back and BAM she’s freaking dead. That’s fucked up, man, that’s so messed up. Why’d you agree to let us read this?”

Connor sighed. “Because it’s a good book.”

“Dude, I freaking _cried._ You know the last time I cried? I was _nine_ and I had just watched _Star Wars_ for the first time. Okay?”

“You haven’t cried since you were _nine?_ ” Connor asked, knowing he was focusing on the wrong thing. “Dude, what’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with _me?_ What’s wrong with _you_? You let me read some messed up death book!”

“It’s not _messed up._ That stuff happens sometimes.”

“Yeah, in horrible books that you conned me into reading!”

Connor’s heart dropped. Jared was going to drop out of the project, he was going to bail, he was going to tell everyone how awful Connor was and how weird the book was.

But then Jared laughed. “Dude that book is freaking sad. Now I kind of want to watch the movie anyways.”

“The movie’s okay,” Connor said, uncertainly.

“Isn’t it Disney?”

“I think so… Why are you up so early?” Connor asked.

And Jared let out an exasperated noise, like it was so beside the point, sighing. “Dude, I wasn’t kidding about this bar mitzvah thing. I got woken up at seven thirty this morning to help call a caterer and crap.”

“Why are you doing that?” Connor asked.

“Because I’m a man now, asshole.”

Connor laughed.

“But mostly because my mom is stressed out and my dad is just not helping… I dunno. I sorta felt bad.”

Connor blinked. Why was Jared telling him this? So he asked him.

“I dunno dude. Nevermind.”

“No! No, sorry, I meant… it’s just. Nevermind. Forget I said anything. I’m sorry your dad’s not helping. My dad’s like that too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I dunno, he’s probably banging his secretary or something. He’s always golfing or working late and stuff.”

“Lame-sauce. Sorry bro.”

“Eh, it’s whatever.”

“So, we’re still on for tomorrow right? To write up this presentation on the saddest book ever?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“My mom wants to know if you have any food allergies.”

Connor smiled. “Nope.”

“Thank God, my mom once accidentally sent peanut butter cookies to a bake sale where some kid had a peanut allergy and she almost died of embarrassment.”

“Was the kid okay?”

“Dude, that’s the worst part. The kid was _out sick._ ”

Connor smiled.

And then there was a knock on the door. His dad, who didn’t wait for him to respond, swung the door open. “Connor. Downstairs, now please.”

“Hang on,” He said to Jared, then took the phone away from his face. “I’m on the phone.”

His dad rolled his eyes. “Wrap it up and meet me downstairs in ten minutes. And take a shower, you stink.”

His dad walked out.

Connor rolled his eyes. “Sorry, my dad’s being a dick.”

“Fucking dads, man.”

“Yeah.” Connor sighed. “Anyway, I guess I’ve gotta go.”

“Fine. I’ll add more notes to the google doc, okay?”

“Great.”

“We should see if the movie’s on netflix. We can make part of the presentation on like… movie adaptations of childhood trauma.”

“You’re kind of dramatic,” Connor said, laughing.

“Like you’re not?”

Connor laughed again. “Later.”

“Bye.”

* * *

Connor dragged himself through the shower, his arms and legs moving slower than he expected. Having perked up a little over Jared’s phone call didn’t seem to be helping his mood much.

Just the whole shower thing could be too much sometimes. All of the water, the being naked, having to wash his hair… and now that it was sort of shaggy, having to comb it out was a process too.

So it took him fifteen minutes to get downstairs. His dad was at the table, eating toast. Zoe had stayed at a friend’s the night before.

Connor didn’t know where his mom was.

“Where’s mom?”

His dad sighed. “I don’t… some kind of meditation thing she’s trying?”

Connor nodded. There wasn’t anything for him to eat at the table so he went and poured himself some cereal before sighing and having a seat next to his dad.

“Your mom said you’re going to a friend’s house tomorrow?”

Connor didn’t miss his dad’s disbelieving tone of voice. “It’s for a school project.” He started shoveling cereal in his mouth, hoping that if he ate fast enough his dad would get to the point, whatever it was, and leave him alone.

His dad heaved a massive sigh. “I’m going to the barber shop in about ten minutes. You’re coming with me.”

“What?” Connor said, dropping his spoon loudly into his cereal bowl. “No.”

“Connor, you need to do something about your hair.”

“No, I _don’t_ . It’s _fine_.”

“No, it makes you look like a little girl,” His dad said. He didn’t even yell it. He said it like the fact was so true it was exhausting.

“But-”

“No buts. You’re getting a haircut.”

“I don’t want one! My hair’s not even that long!” It really wasn’t; there were plenty of guys at school and at the high school with much longer hair than Connor’s. His barely hung over his ears.

“If you want the other kids to stop picking on you at school, then you need to start acting like the other kids. I know it’s not what your mother is saying, and I know it’s not the most PC thing in the world, but it’s true. So. We’re going. Put your shoes on.”

Connor felt like his stomach had disappeared entirely from his body.

He.

He didn’t want a haircut.

He especially didn’t want one just because his dad thought it might make him look more normal.

But then.

God.

Then there was the piece of him that _did_ want to look more normal. That thought, hopefully, desperately, that maybe… maybe then somebody other than some high school stoners or well meaning teachers might want to talk to him if he looked less… like himself. That maybe if he just… tried a little harder to be less weird, it might. Be better.

“Fine,” Connor said. Eyes down. Not even going to fight him.

His dad looked at him, apparently surprised. “Alright. Get your shoes.”

* * *

 

His dad didn’t bother asking Connor what he wanted to do with his hair. He just looked at the barber, said, “Just buzz it all, it’s almost summer” and the barber basically did just that.

Which.

Frankly, Connor ought to have expected this. Should have prepared mentally, should have actually fought with his dad to come up with some kind of compromise on acceptable hair lengths but instead he was getting his head just buzzed and it was awful all because he tried to listen to his dad for once.

His head was too skinny and long to be shaved; his ears were definitely too big. It made him look even more like a baby; his eyes looked bigger, his face looked rounder.

It was _really_ bad. He could tell before it was even half finished.

He had to press his nails hard into the palm of his hand to keep from yelling or crying or freaking out.

His dad got some kind of trim-and-shave situation that made him look exactly the same as before he came in. He kept saying how much better Connor looked now that he didn’t have “all of that damn hair in his face.”

Connor thought he looked like a cancer patient with terrible acne every time he caught sight of his reflection.

He thought he looked like he had lost a bet with a lawn mower.

He thought that school on Monday was going to be an absolutely joke. He could practically hear the jokes already, the comments, the whispers, the pointing out his massive stupid ears and his spotty, gross face, and his stupid eyebrows that seemed too thin and too girly on his face suddenly. And then there was the glasses. God.

He looked insane.

He looked like he belonged in a nuthouse.

No hair, big eyes, huge glasses.

He looked like a bug.

Like that cartoon turtle Franklin. But with fucking glasses.

He wanted to scream.

Hide in his room for the rest of his life which would hopefully be short.

He also really wanted to hit his dad. Something about hitting him in the garage had made Connor just… always want to hit his dad.

“You want to stop at the store, pick you up some new shoes to wear for Monday?”

Connor shook his head. “No. Thanks.” He was too tired to imagine being dragged around a shoe store with Larry.

“You really do look better,” Larry said, but this time there was an edge to it. Like, agree or else.

“Thanks,” Connor mumbled, staring out the window.

He knew it was stupid. It was just hair. It grew back.

But he felt so naked without it. Vulnerable. Like, until the moment the barber switched on the buzzers it was the only thing standing in between Connor and the rest of the world. And now it was gone.

And he looked. Just.

So.

Stupid.

* * *

 

Naturally Zoe laughed when Connor and their dad walked in; Larry had insisted on a drag-and-whine through Target because he complained that Connor needed to try some kind of industrial strength acne thing and a certain deodorant and also he needed a bunch of more “acceptable” clothes which was just code for things that Connor would literally rather pluck out his own eyeballs with a spoon than be caught dead wearing.

“You look like a Martian!” Zoe said, snorting through her nose.

His mom was sort of frowning at Zoe while she laughed. She didn’t say anything to Connor. She didn’t say anything at all.

Connor looked at her blankly, biting his lip hard. “I’m going to my room,” he said to nobody in particular, and then stomped up the stairs. He flung himself onto his bed, his throat burning, his face burning, literally everything inside and out was on fire.

Was there anything he could do where the end result wasn’t so fucking embarrassing?

He rolled on to his back, staring at the ceiling. As a kid he and his dad had decorated the ceiling with hundreds of glow in the dark stars. Connor had been five or six. His dad had hoisted Connor onto his shoulders and Connor had helped to stick all of the stars in a nonsense pattern, forming little constellations across the ceiling.

A tear or two slipped, hot and uncomfortable, down the side of his face and then down his newly shaved neck.

He was fucking crying over his stupid hair.

_He was such a freaking girl._

As if he couldn’t get any more pathetic.

He wiped his face roughly.

Grabbed the chair from his desk. Stood up on it.

Stayed up there for a moment, because his brain was trying to do the math to determine if he could hang himself from the exposed support beam in his bedroom.

He probably wasn’t tall enough.

Plus he didn’t really know how.

Connor stared at the ceiling from the top of his desk chair.

And.

Started ripping down the stars from his ceiling. He could just barely reach if he stood on his toes.

The ceiling was rough and the glue wasn’t interested in budging. Connor picked stars off of the ceiling until his fingers ached and his nails were ripped up and a little bloody. He piled them all into the trash bin, breathing too fast and too hard, but his face finally dry.

* * *

That night he could hear his parents arguing.

Connor just kept trying to read the latest book he got out of the library. It was about some kids at a boarding school in the south. The main kid was obsessed with this girl called Alaska. Connor didn’t know why he thought she was so great.

“You could have at least told me that you were doing it!”

“He’s acting like I dragged him there. He agreed to get a haircut!”

Alaska smoked cigarettes. She told weird stories about getting her boobs honked and tried to hook the kid, Miles, up with some other girl even though Miles obviously had a thing for Alaska.

“Well, forgive me Larry, but I have a feeling that you didn’t mention that you were planning to shave his head!”

“Lots of kids wear their hair like that! It’s about to be summer!”

“Connor has never worn his-”

“-Connor has got to stop standing out so much if he’s going to make it to high school, Cynthia! I mean, look at him. Look at the clothes you let him out of the house in! I keep expecting to come home to find him in a face full of makeup or, like, painting his nails with Zoe!”

“So?” Connor heard his mother demand, sounding indignant. “Why is that something you’re so concerned about?”

“I just want him to be normal! I didn’t realize that was a _crime_!”

There was a knock on his door. Which surprised him, since his parents were obviously both still downstairs screaming at each other.

It was Zoe. Of course.

“What do you want?” Connor asked her in a low voice.

“I’m sorry I laughed at you earlier,” Zoe said. She looked sorry too. It was weird. Connor couldn’t think of the last time she owed him an apology. Or the last time he might have remotely deserved one.  

He shrugged. “It’s fine.” They both sort of stared at the floor.

 _You should say something,_ Connor thought. _Try, come on, she’s trying._

“I’m sorry I wrecked your diary…” He said. Mumbled. Eyes trained on the floor like it was the most fascinating floor in the world. “And that I read it. That… wasn’t nice.”

Zoe let out a soft sort of noise, but didn’t say anything.

“Do you…?” Connor started. Stopped. Stared so hard at the floor that if he had any latent superpowers he was certain they would manifest in that exact second and burn a whole in the hardwood. “Do you really like Brian?”

He didn’t really want to know because what if she really did? Or if she didn’t but she just wanted to hurt him? What was he opening his mouth for?

Their parents kept on yelling downstairs. Connor caught the words _“-probably turn out gay with the way you coddle him, Cynthia-”_ and wished he could just suddenly be deaf. He was half tempted to shove his fingers into his ears and hum like a crazy person because he just… he was already so worried about that, he was already so confused, and there his dad was, saying how bad it was, saying how it was Connor’s mom’s fault when it was so clearly Connor’s own fault for being built wrong, for being a weirdo, for reading instead of ever actually talking to people….

“I don’t know,” Zoe said, quietly, answering his question. So quietly her voice almost got lost in the shout from downstairs _“It’s the twenty first century, Larry,_ you _are the only person I know who would have a problem with having a gay son-”_

“Want to blast music to drown them out?” Zoe asked, sounding hopeful. “We can dance it out like we used to do? That might get them to stop.”

Connor didn’t really feel like jumping around and dancing with Zoe. He was certain he would just make a fool of himself, and besides, it felt like a little kid thing to do now. But he agreed because he never got to hang out with Zoe anymore, and for once they weren’t fighting,  and he was trying not to be such a loser/disaster around his sister which might help him practice being normal.  

He let her pick the music, and she picked something fast and loud, and they jumped around like crazy people until their parents finally shut up.

* * *

 

His mom insisted on dropping him off at Jared’s. Which was so embarrassing because Jared lived less than a mile away and Connor could have just ridden his bike like a normal person.

But his mom seemed convinced that she needed to meet Jared’s parents before leaving Connor alone there. Which, Connor supposed was fair, seeing as he had literally no friends and for all he knew Jared’s invite was just some inventive way to torture him.

So Connor and his mom went to the Kleinmans’ front door together, and Connor rang the doorbell quickly, like the faster he did it the sooner it could all just be over.

Connor had texted Jared to warn him about his overprotective mother, so thankfully Mrs. Kleinman answered the door. “Hi! You must be Mrs. Kleinman,” Connor’s mother said.

“Rebecca, please.”

“Cythnia.”

They shook hands.

“And this is my Connor,” Connor’s mom said, and Connor tried not to scowl at that. He really really really hated it when his mother introduced him as _her_ Connor. As if there were fifteen _other_ Connors running around and she needed to clarify which was hers.

“Nice to meet you, Connor,” Mrs. Kleinman said. “Jared’s in his room getting set up. He’s very excited to work on this project.”

Connor tried his best to smile as if Mrs. Kleinman wasn’t super dumb for thinking that was remotely true.

“Well, I will be by if to pick Connor up around five o’clock,” his mom said. “And here is my number. Call if you need anything at all.”

Mrs. Kleinman nodded, smiling, and then stepped away from the door to let Connor inside. “Sh-shoes off?” He asked, nervously. He hadn’t actually been invited to someone else’s house in so long he wasn’t sure what the rules were anymore.

“Please.”

Connor toed off his sneakers, trying to smile.

“I don’t know if Jared told you but his friend Evan is also over. His mom had to go out of town unexpectedly.”

Connor blinked, surprised. “Evan… Hansen?”

“Yes, he’s in your grade.”

“Oh,” Connor said, trying and failing to sound like this did not bother him in the slightest. “Cool.”

“Great,” Mrs. Kleinman said, looking a little relieved. “The boys are upstairs in Jared’s room. First door on the right.”

Connor nodded, smiled as best he could, and then headed up the stairs.

He didn’t want to hang out with Evan Hansen.

Evan Hansen was weird and quiet and the only time they had ever really talked was the day that Evan couldn’t stop crying after Brian tried to drown Connor in the toilet.

Plus like.

It wasn’t like Evan could work on the project with them.

It was stupid, but Connor was… weirdly disappointed not to get to actually spend the time with just Jared. Which he knew made him creepy and weird and lame as hell but he just didn’t want Evan Hansen there too.

He reached Jared’s door, which was open a little, and knocked.

Jared answered it a second later. “Dude! What happened to your hair?”

“My dad,” Connor said dully.

“Evan’s here too,” Jared said. “His dad’s also an asshole.” Jared opened the door and Connor stepped inside. Jared had a lofted bed with a desk underneath that housed an expensive looking desktop computer. There was a television in the corner and a new looking gaming system.

“Jared,” Evan said, his face turning a blotchy red. He was sitting in a beanbag chair.

“What did your dad do?” Connor asked, eyebrows raised.

Evan mumbled something unintelligible in the direction of his lap.

Connor looked at Jared for a translation.

“Just trust me, his dad’s in the club too,” Jared said. “Evan we’ve got to work on our project. Do you want headphones or something?”

Evan shook his head a little too aggressively. “Have to finish mine, it’s fine, I can r-read while you talk.”

Connor didn’t want to be friendly. But he was trying to be normal, so, maybe normal meant being nice to the only kid weirder than him. “Who did you get paired with?”

Evan’s face got redder. “Oh. Um. A-Alana?”

Connor nodded. He knew her. They had been paired together during frog dissections in their biology class earlier this year. Connor thought it was pretty messed up that they were dissecting frogs in the seventh grade. That felt like it ought to have waited until high school at least. “What are you guys reading?”

“Sh-Sherman Alexie… um,” Evan held up a copy of _The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian._

Connor smiled. He had actually really liked that book, even though it was super messed up. “I thought that one was pretty good.”

“Yeah? M-me too. So far.”

Jared sat in his computer chair and indicated a papasan chair in the corner to Connor. He didn’t know anyone who had this many chairs in their bedroom. Connor wondered if Jared had people over a lot.

“So, I read over your notes,” Jared said, nodding to himself. “And I think we should probably talk about the way that being a boy or being a girl is, like, important in the book or whatever. I think that’s, like, half of the plot and stuff.”

“Okay.”

“Is there like a smarter, nerdy ass way of saying that?” Jared said, smirking at Connor.

Connor bit his lip, trying to think. “Um… I guess we could say, like… Something about the, er, role of gender or something like that?”

Jared nodded. “Yeah, that’s good, let me write that down.”

They went back and forth like that for over an hour, spitballing ideas, and laughing. A lot.

It almost didn’t feel like work, Connor thought.

Jared was always making these snarky or mean comments. Mostly, they made Connor laugh. Like when he carried on about how dumb the name “May Belle” was, or how he thought it was messed up that not only did the girl in the book die, but before that she made friends with someone “whose dad is a bigger asshole than any of ours.”

“I thought that made her seem more realistic,” Connor said, weirdly feeling the need to defend Janice Avery, the bully who stole Twinkies from Jesse’s dumb little sister.

“Maybe, but like… I dunno. I don't think I'd make friends with someone who I knew wanted to beat me up," Jared said. 

"That was pretty messed up, what they did, acting like her crush and whatever,” Connor said.

Jared rolled his eyes. “Awww do _you_ have a crush Janice, Connor?”

“Shut up,” Connor said, but he knew his face had lit up. Still. Being teased by Jared like that didn’t feel so terrible.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t do the same thing to Brian Harris if you thought you could get away with it?” Jared said. "Because I have a feeling you don't really want to make friends no matter how much of a dick his dad is."

“I might punch him,” Connor said, rolling his eyes. “But that crush thing was mean."

A little while later, Jared declared their powerpoint “mostly finished, for like, now” and then called to Evan that he should quit reading. Evan looked surprised that Jared was talking to him. “We’re gonna watch the movie. You wanna watch it?”

Evan shrugged. “I haven’t… I read the book a while ago.”

“So?” Jared said. “We’re being all intellectual and crap. I’m going to go bug my mom for popcorn.” He sort of walked lazily out of the room.

Connor had never been that comfortable in his own house.

He didn’t know it was even possible.

Meanwhile, Evan, frozen on the beanbag chair, looked as far from comfortable as possible. He looked the way Connor felt at school. Like one wrong move could blow the whole thing sky high.

Connor didn’t like being alone with Evan.

He wished Jared would hurry up.

“So,” Evan said, and Connor almost jumped in surprise. Evan’s face flushed again, and he ducked his head. He cleared his throat, awkwardly. “Um… have you… seen the movie?”

Connor shook his head. “No.”

“I saw it awhile ago,” Evan said, quietly.

“Is it good?”

He shrugged. “Too many bad graphics.”

Connor smiled. “Who’s your favorite character? In the book?”

Evan bit his lip. “Leslie.”

“How come?”

Evan gave him some kind of twisted half smile. “I don’t have T.V. either.”

“For real?” Connor said.

“Yeah… my mom decided to cut cable and…” Evan snapped his mouth closed, like he'd said too much.

But Connor smiled. “My mom had a phase with that too. She also took away all of our phones for a couple of weeks until we caught her texting in the bathroom.”

Evan smiled.

Jared reappeared with popcorn and a few sodas tucked under his arm. “My mom wants to know if you wanna stay for dinner, Connor. She’s being all weird about us ‘spoiling our food.’”

Connor blinked, surprised. “Um.”

“She’s making pasta.”

“Um. I’ll have to text my mom?”

“My mom said she’ll call if you wanna.”

Connor shrugged. “Okay. Sure.”

Jared smiled. “Cool.” He dropped the popcorn and soda on the small table near the beanbag chair. “MOM! HE SAID HE’LL STAY.”

Connor sort of smiled.

“Alright nerds, let’s watch this hella sad movie.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from:  
> When by Dodie Clark (if you read HP at all, you'd notice that I've already called a fic "When" because I am utterly smitten with that song). 
> 
> Books mentioned include:  
> The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie  
> Looking For Alaska by John Green


	4. I Used to Waste My Time Dreaming of Being Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared's bar mitzvah is Saturday. Connor returns to school with his new haircut. Brian Harris remains the worst. Connor hangs out with Jake again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit discussion of self harm, marijuana use, and suicide ideation.

Connor woke up feeling like his body was made of lead. Like he was made of cement. 

Or like someone had tied an anchor around his waist and tossed him into a lake. 

He had gone swimming as a little kid a lot; his parents were always dragging them out in the summers. The beach on the lake. He was almost always sunburnt for the few weeks of summer; Zoe used to get covered in so many freckles and Connor would be almost jealous since he didn’t really get any. 

At the lake… He and Zoe used to play this game where one of them would pretend to be drowning, staying underwater for a long time, holding their breath, practicing the “dead man’s float,”  and the other would “save” them. Grab them and drag them up and laugh and then do it all over again. 

Connor didn’t remember why but they called it mermaids. Playing mermaids. 

He had really liked pretend games. 

If it wasn’t weird, he’d probably still play them now. He would love to shed his own skin 

for a while, become someone else. 

Connor remembered this one time Zoe got mad at him when she was nine and Connor was ten and they were playing this game at the beach and it was Connor’s turn to “drown.” And he waded out as deep as he could, until he was up to his neck in the water, until he couldn’t touch the bottom anymore… a little too far out, a little too far from the shore, from his parents, and…

And then he took a deep breath and went under the water. Because it was his turn to “drown.”

He pulled his head under. Kept his eyes closed. 

And after a little bit he knew he needed to breathe. Zoe wasn’t there yet to “save” him.

But he stayed under. His eyes opened. 

He kept them open. 

Watching the way the bubbles from his mouth floated up to the surface, far up above him. He wished he was a merperson then. He wished he could stay under the water forever. 

His lungs started to burn. He knew he should start kicking, start scrambling to the surface. But. 

He didn’t. 

He stayed down. Closed his eyes. Imagined being a merperson. Living underwater, eating seaweed and whatever. It was quieter under the water. 

A lot quieter. 

Connor liked that. He wished his real life was like that. Quieter. 

Were merepeople allowed to read, he wondered? Did they make waterproof books?

Could he sprout gills and stay down there forever? Was there a real-life version of gillyweed from Harry Potter? In the quiet, in the dark, could he just learn to live down there? He liked the way the light played under the water, the steaks and beams which couldn’t even reach the bottom, the cool, dark, bottom. 

Quiet. 

So quiet.

God he liked it when it was quiet. He wished it was quieter above water. 

His lungs burned. His throat ached. 

He knew he needed air. 

He could hear something distant, some kind of distant noise. 

And then a pair of strong arms pulling him up, fast, not Zoe’s, and then he was coughing and sputtering and his mom was the one yelling, from far away, her voice brittle and scared, his dad pulled him out, shaking him, saying, shouting, “Connor what the  _ hell _ ?”   


He and Zoe weren’t allowed to play mermaids anymore. 

Their family didn’t go to the beach as much.

But sometimes Connor felt like he was still playing. 

Still drowning. 

Waiting for someone to pull him out of the water. 

Only nobody else was playing. Nobody was looking to see if he was drowning. 

So he just kept holding his breath.

* * *

 

“Connor finished the milk,” Zoe complained at breakfast. She looked tired. She was frowning, her hair in a tight ponytail. 

“I thought there was more in the fridge?” His mom said. 

Dad nowhere in sight. Early meeting, apparently. Not even here to wish Connor good luck with premiering his new terrible hair cut. Connor wondered if he was actually sleeping with his secretary or something. He half dreamed that his dad was. That his mom would find out. That they’d get divorced. Zoe would live with their dad, but Connor would stay with their mom. She’d go back to teaching; they’d move to a new school district. Maybe one where people weren’t so fucking awful. 

“No, there’s nothing else in the fridge,” Zoe complained, sitting down dramatically. 

“Sorry,” Connor mumbled. 

“Zoe, here, just… eat this,” His mom said, distractedly, putting a Poptart in front of her. 

“Mom,” Zoe complained. “He finished the milk on purpose.”

“What?  _ No _ I didn’t.” What a stupid thing to say. He obviously hadn’t done that. That would be so beyond dumb.

“Zoe, don’t pick at him, he didn’t do it on purpose,” His mom said. She sounded exhausted. Connor had heard her and his dad fighting again the night before. 

Connor wondered if she’d been crying. 

He hoped not. 

“Yes he did! He saw that I was going downstairs and he finished the milk!”

“Oh my god, Zoe,  _ no _ , I didn’t! Don’t be crazy!  Are you on your period or something?” Connor mumbled around a mouthful of cereal. 

And then Zoe burst into tears.

Fuck. 

“God, screw you Connor!”

“Screw you!”

“Everyone’s going to make fun of you today!” Zoe shouted. “Everyone’s going to tell you how stupid you look!”

“Zoe!” Their mom said sharply. 

“Whatever. God, I hate this family!” Zoe shouted, shoving away from the table and racing off to the bus stop. 

Connor’s mom caught his eye for a moment, then sighing, she said, “You’re going to be late.”

* * *

 

The bus ride was brutal. 

Just brutal. 

He always sat alone, but today it might have been nice to have literally anyone to block him from view. 

He’d worn a hoodie that day, even though he didn’t like wearing long sleeves. His mom had insisted. It was cold and raining; too cold for late April, if you asked Connor. 

The rain was really coming down. 

Pouring. 

The bus looked more like a submarine from the inside. 

He could hear Zoe sniffling from the back of the bus. 

He felt terrible. 

He wished he had slept. 

Connor wished Jared had texted him at all after he went home. He wished he had heard from him at all. The night before, after they finished the sad movie version of _Bridge to Terabithia_ , Connor, Evan, and Jared all played Mario Kart. Connor hadn’t played with anyone other than Zoe in ages; Evan beat them both handedly the first round. 

“God, we suck.”

“We definitely suck,” Jared agreed. 

Evan blushed. 

“Where’s your dad?” Connor asked Jared. “You never said.”

“He’s off being an asshole somewhere,” Jared said. “He’s been like buried in some kind of home improvement thing for like a month now. He’s probably at the hardware store buying shit we don’t need.”

Connor nodded. 

“He’s nice,” Evan volunteered. Connor looked at him, surprised. 

“Yeah. When he’s here,” Jared said, rolling his eyes. 

“At least he is here,” Evan mumbled. His cheeks were pink. 

Connor didn’t know what that meant.

“Hey! Kid! Come on, you’ve got to get to class.”

Connor blinked. They were at school already. Somehow.

* * *

 

“Nice hair, asshole.”

Connor ignored it. 

Brian Harris and his lackeys kept coming though. That wasn’t all they had to say. Very chatty, Brian and his friends.  

“Did you lose a fight with some scissors?”

“I bet he has cancer.”

“Yeah, ass cancer.”

“From being gay.”

Connor ignored it. He said nothing, hands balled into fists at his sides. He had thought about wearing a hat to school at first, but he knew it would only make it more obvious. 

Brian checked Connor’s shoulder as he walked past to get to class. 

Connor thought he had gotten off too easy. 

No. 

He knew he got off too easy. Something wasn’t right. He knew it. They were going to come after him and he was going to get his ass kicked. Connor knew. He knew he knew. 

He just.

He kept his head down. 

He was just going to try to be normal. 

He going to try. 

But was was getting really hard.

* * *

 

He slunk into homeroom, head down, trying to avoid the stares of everyone in the room. He put his head down the moment he got to his desk. Eyes down.

Look at nobody and nobody looked at you.

If you can’t see them, they can’t see you. All the usual bullshit. 

“Connor?” Mr. Weston had stopped at Connor’s desk before the start of homeroom. 

“Hi,” He mumbled to his teacher. 

“You alright?”

Connor didn’t really think it was appropriate for a teacher to be commenting on his stupid hair. He didn’t look up. “Yeah, Mr. Weston. I’m fine. Thanks.”

His teacher just. Stood there. “Is… is everything okay at home, Connor?”

Connor felt his face burn. “Yes,” He said through gritted teeth. He kept his head down. He wouldn’t look up. He couldn’t look up. 

“It’s just…” Mr. Weston sounded uncertain. He sounded worried. “You don’t…  _ look _ okay.”

“It’s  _ just _ a haircut, Mr. Weston. Don’t...  _ Please _ .”

He saw his teacher frown. “Connor… Look, I know…”

“No. You don’t,” Connor snapped, his fists clenched. He looked up then. 

Mr. Weston took a step back. 

“You don’t know. That’s… Nobody does. Just… leave me alone.”

* * *

 

Evan wasn’t at school on Monday. 

Jared looked sort of relieved.

“Today’s gonna be bad enough as it is.”

Connor knew Jared was talking about his hair, but he weirdly thought it might be… a sort of solidarity thing. 

“I feel bad because, like, Evan’s.. grandpa is like sick and whatever, but… sometimes he’s just. So.” He made some gesture that Connor didn’t really understand. “He can be kind of lame.”

Connor shrugged. 

He was trying to be normal. 

He knew being normal sometimes involved talking crap about people behind their backs. But Connor thought Evan was… fine. And he didn’t want to talk about him like that. It felt. Awful. 

“Dude, come on, I saw you roll your eyes yesterday too.”

Connor felt his face heat up. He did definitely roll his eyes when Evan started going on about this tree thing to Mrs. Kleinman and it went on for forever. But it was more because Evan didn’t seem to realize that Mrs. Kleinman was talking to him like he was a five year old. Connor had been, like, embarrassed for him. 

“Yeah. I guess that was lame.”

“Thank god I’m not working with him on this project,” Jared went on. “Last time he was supposed to speak publicly was in like, Mrs. Feld’s fifth grade Christmas play. He just… like. Stuttered through a whole stupid line about snow.”

Connor hadn’t been in Mrs. Feld’s fifth grade class, but he had definitely heard about that. 

“Pretty messed up that teachers can make us do Christmas stuff,” Connor said without really thinking. “Just, obviously everyone doesn’t celebrate Christmas.”  
Jared looked at him funny. “Are you Jewish?”

“No. I think my parents used to be Catholic?” Connor, in fact, knew his parents used to be Catholic. He and Zoe had both gone through all of the nonsense around making their first communions, but then their parents sort of quit going. 

“So, what, you’re just a naturally good person who cares about other people’s religions?” Jared said and Connor realized, shit, Jared thought he was making fun of him. Shit. 

So he shrugged, knowing his face was warm. “I dunno. Like… there’s a lot of kids who don’t celebrate Christmas. Is all I meant.”

Jared eyed him skeptically for a second. “You’re weird.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“So like… we have almost all of this presentation done,” Jared said, smiling. “I should have picked you to be my partner sooner. No way we don’t get an A.”

Connor knew his face had gotten even warmer, but he just nodded. Their whole English class was in the computer lab, and like Jared had said, they were almost totally done. Almost a week early. 

That was overachieving in class, even for Connor. 

“Hey Jared. Hi Connor.”

Connor tried to pretend not to get annoyed when Alana Beck walked over to him. 

“Hi Alana.”

She smiled. She had changed her hair, Connor noticed. She had worn it in a pair of puffy pigtails for the last few weeks, but now it was all in little braids. 

“Jared, I don’t know if my mom has called your mom yet, but I just wanted to confirm my R.S.V.P. to your bar mitzvah this weekend.”

Jared smiled. “Awesome. You’re the last person I was waiting to hear back from.” 

“Sorry, I had to make sure there wasn’t a conflict with my leadership club,” Alana said. “But the invite said to let you know by today, so I am letting you know. Also I wanted to tell you that I really enjoyed the invitation envelopes. I think the design on them was fun without being too busy.”

Jared rolled his eyes, but Alana smiled harder and Connor wondered if they did that a lot. “Thanks, Alana.”

“My mom wanted to know if your mom needs any help with anything?”

“Nah, I think we’re covered though. Thanks.”

“Cool. Well. See you Jared. Later Connor.”

“Bye,” Jared said. 

Connor waved. 

So. 

Jared’s bar mitzvah was this weekend. And he was having a party. 

Connor hadn’t been expecting to be invited before but… 

He bit his lip. 

Jared didn’t say anything. 

So Connor said nothing. Feeling… just. So stupid. 

Of course he wasn’t invited. 

Of course not. 

Stupid of him to think he might be. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid… how stupid could he be?

What was _wrong_ with him?

Why had he let himself think… for even a second?

“So? That’s this weekend then?” Connor said, and he knew his voice gave him away so he just kept staring at the keyboard. 

“Yeah,” Jared said awkwardly. 

“Mr. Weston,” Connor said, raising his hand. “May I please use the bathroom?”

He eyed Connor suspiciously, but nonetheless handed him a pass and let him go. Connor walked down the hall, but it felt like when you tried to run in waist deep water. Like he was weighed down. 

He walked past the boys’ bathroom. Past the girls’ bathroom. Down the hall, past the classrooms, walking as fast as his legs could manage, wishing he could be more like Melinda from the book, wishing he had a closet to hide in like she did, but instead he just walked down to the copy room, which was empty, and Connor threw himself inside and closed the door.

He breathed heavily. 

Like coming up for air. 

He couldn’t catch his breath.

It was…

He was…

Jared hadn’t invited him. He had expected this. But it still hurt, he still felt it, he still…

Connor walked over to one of the drawers, fingers searching for something before he even knew what it was. 

But then his fingers closed around the box cutter. 

And he.

Felt like he could finally breathe. 

He pushed the little lever, revealing the blade. Looked at it. It looked dirty, dull. 

Those blades had little hatch marks, like you could snap them off. 

Connor’s fingers shook. 

He snapped off the old, dull edge, revealing a sharp new cutting one. 

And put it to his wrist.

* * *

 

He had jazz band that day, last period. Playing the stupid keyboard. 

His wrist hurt. 

A lot. 

But he sort of liked it. 

He liked having something to focus on. The sharp little stabs of pain. 

He’d had to wrap a piece of toilet paper tightly around his wrist. He probably should have been more tentative. He probably should have been more careful, but he got a little carried away. 

He was glad for the cold weather that morning. He’d worn a black zip hoodie from the back of his closet at his mom’s insistence. 

Zoe kept turning to glare at him. She was apparently still angry about this morning. All he’d done was finish the milk. 

He wondered if she really  _ did _ have her period. 

He wished someone could just tell him if there was something he should be doing differently. Something that could make Zoe stop hating him so much. 

“What are you looking at, freak?” spat Sabrina Patel. She sat next to Zoe. She played the bass. Connor used to think she was cool, back in like the third grade. She had the same birthday as Connor and their moms used to coordinate treats. 

“Shut up Sabrina,” Connor mumbled. 

“Why? You start your period today, Connor?” Sabrina retorted. 

Zoe laughed. 

Connor’s face burned. 

He trained his eyes on his sheet music. At the notes he had made, about tempo, about key changes. The notes seemed to swim before him. Connor felt a little like he was looking at them from underwater. 

“Alright, we’re getting started folks... “ The teacher said. He sounded far away to Connor’s ears. “...and remember this isn’t a race, people, no need to be rushing….”

Connor’s fingers were clumsy on the keys. He missed more than a few notes. Becca who sat next to him rolled her eyes, called him a fag, and told him to get it together. 

The band teacher got pissed off a few times because Connor kept messing up his part. “Mr. Murphy, I would appreciate it if you could try to stay  _ on  _ tempo today, thank you.”

A lot of the other kids laughed. 

Becca next to him laughed. 

Sabrina Patel and Zoe both turned around to laugh at him. 

Connor swallowed hard. 

And kept his head down. 

And then he noticed that he was bleeding. A little trickle of blood, running over his hand from when he dropped it at his side.

Connor wiped his hand on his jeans. Trying to be sneaky about it. 

“Let’s go again.”

They started again. 

And just tried to keep playing. 

And playing. 

Badly. 

He was playing badly. 

“Connor, come on!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at the keys. There was a spot of blood, bright red against the white. His hands were shaking. He used his sleeve to wipe it away. 

He kept fucking up the tempo. 

“Let’s go again.”

It was not a great day of jazz band for Connor.

* * *

 

“Loving the new hair length,” Brian Harris said in the hall after the last bell of the day rang. “What’d you do to piss off Larry that much, eh? He catch you jerking it to the guys in in your sister’s Cosmo?”

“Shut up, Brian.”

Brian just laughed. 

Connor wished he would just hit him. He would really really like it if Brian hit him. 

“You remember the summer before fifth grade?” Connor heard himself saying, because apparently he was absolutely trying to get murdered or something. 

Brian slowed. 

Stopped. 

Looked at him. 

“Your dad grounded you at the end of the year for trying to quit the volleyball team and you cried, saying it was too hard and you hated it.”

Brian looked pissed. “You’re out of your mind, Murphy, that didn’t happen.”

“Weird, I remember it so vividly. You, crying, covered in snot, because the other kids made fun of you for being fat and so your dad made you do sports. Me, stuck at your parents house because they were all out drunk together and your oldest sister was keeping an eye on us.”

“You better watch your mouth,” Brian said lowly. 

“Was it gay then when you wrote me letters every single day from fat camp? Talking about how you hated it, about how you missed real food and people who weren’t total zombies who just wanted to run all of the time, and how I was your best friend? Sorry, it’s just, I’m confused. And you’re the expert apparently... Was  _ that _ gay?”

Somehow, he didn’t know how, but somehow Connor managed to dodge the punch that Brian threw. Somehow he managed to run away fast enough. 

He knew he was dooming himself to hell tomorrow. But for now he felt a little bit better.

* * *

“MURPHY!”

Connor ignored the yell. He assumed it was Brian, having some how cut him off and raced outside already.  

“Connor, dude, I know it’s you!”

He blinked. 

Turned and squinted (glasses stashed in his backpack). Jake, Aidan, and Sarah, all crowding around a street lamp. Sarah and Aidan were smoking. “You wanna come hang with us?”

Connor swallowed. 

“Sure,” He said, shrugging. He started off toward them. 

“Connor!” He turned back toward the school. Jared was waving. “Hey, my mom was wondering if you wanted to come over again this week? She’s got like, I dunno, a total boner for you or something since you came over on Sunday…”

Connor blinked. Confused. “Sorry, what?”

Jared’s face turned a little bit red. “I… you know. Do you wanna come over this week?”

“No,” Connor said, coldly. 

Jared blinked rapidly behind his glasses. “W-why not?”

Connor bit his lip. “Well. I assume you’ll be _busy_ with bar mitzvah planning.”

Jared’s face went really red then. “Connor…”

“Look, my friends are waiting so,” Connor mumbled, starting to walk away. 

“Those kids aren’t your friends,” Jared said. 

“Well, clearly you aren’t either so.”

“I’m sorry,” Jared said, looking behind him, face deep red. “I… Dude, look, I’m sorry. I couldn’t… I handed the invites out weeks ago.”

“Sure,” Connor said. Shrugged. 

“Look, you know I can’t invite you. I’m sorry. It would… I’m having a hard enough time getting people to come to this stupid party.”

“Right,” Connor said. Hollowly. “I’ll see you in class or whatever.”

He walked off toward Jake and the others. 

“Dude,” Jake said, throwing an arm around Connor’s shoulder. “You look like you need a pick me up.”

“Yeah,” Connor said, reckless. “I do.”

“Well then I’ve got a present for you,” He said, pulling what looked like a hand rolled cigarette out of his pocket. Connor wasn’t stupid. He knew it was pot. 

“Alright.”

Sarah leaned over and planted a kiss on Connor’s cheek. He felt his skin light on fire. “God, I love you. So cute. I’m so glad we’ve adopted you.”

Connor blushed harder. 

He looked quickly back at Jared. He looked upset, hanging onto his backpack. Looking after Connor. 

Fuck. 

God, he was  _ so _ stupid. To think Jared had wanted to be his friend. 

So fucking stupid. 

“Alright, kiddo, make sure you don’t take too hard of a pull, yeah? This isn’t a cigarette,” Aidan said, and Connor nodded. 

“Don’t get paranoid, yeah? It’s super annoying when people get paranoid,” Jake said. 

“Okay,” Connor said. Taking a hit. 

Connor was an idiot. He was so stupid. He didn’t have anyone at school. He didn’t have anyone at home. 

But. 

At least he wasn’t alone.

* * *

 

He stayed up too late. His eyes itched. 

His mouth finally stopped feeling funny after a few hours. After he faked a headache and headed upstairs before his parents could smell it on him or see how red his eyes were. 

Connor didn’t sleep. 

But he didn’t want to sleep. 

He’d gotten this book from the library. 

Stayed up all night reading it. 

Hate-reading it. 

It was stupid. This girl made all of these tapes before she killed herself…

Connor stayed up all night. 

But not because of the book. 

Because he couldn’t think of thirteen reasons he thought sometimes about playing in traffic or finding something really high to jump off of or tying a belt around one of the support beams in his bedroom with the other side around his neck. 

He didn’t know why he felt this way. 

There were no people to point the finger at. 

Connor only had one. 

Himself. 

He was a bad person. 

He knew that. It was so fucking clear. His parents had been arguing again. About him, over him. Zoe hated him. Jared Kleinman couldn’t even invite him to a stupid bar mitzvah because…

Because. 

He was a bad person. 

That was reason enough. He didn’t need twelve more. 

The book was idiotic.

So idiotic. 

People didn’t kill themselves because people were mean. If that was true nobody would ever survive the fourth grade. 

If that was true Connor wouldn’t have survived the second grade. 

People didn’t just do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Books mentioned:   
> Speak (again)  
> Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher (I would not recommend reading this)
> 
> Chapter title is from:   
> Of All the Gin Joints in All the World by Fall Out Boy


	5. Show Me a Starry-Eyed Kid, I Will Break His Jaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has a very bad week of school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****Please note that this chapter contains violence, homophobia, self harm and suicidal thoughts.

Tuesday at school was a joke.

Jared kept trying to talk to him, and Connor kept ignoring Jared because he was so not putting up with him right now.

Brian Harris was gone for the day, though. Not that it stopped his idiot friends from commenting on everything about Connor had ever worn, read, thought, looked like.

Tuesday was also when Connor abandoned his strategy of acting like he was normal. There was no point anymore, and he had a stack of books he would rather be reading. So Tuesday on the way home, he read on the bus. Finished the stupid suicide book (it was due back at the library anyway). Started in on Will Grayson Will Grayson. It was a fast read. Connor liked lowercase will, he thought. He was a mess and _definitely_ gay, so Connor liked him. Though, uppercase Will was cool too. Connor was also starting to believe in the life changing magic of shutting the hell up. Though he could never be friends with someone like Tiny, by choice or otherwise. Too much potential for getting his ass kicked. Too much attention. Connor definitely preferred shutting up.

“C-Connor?”

He looked up.

Evan Hansen was standing beside his seat on the bus. His face looked sort of red and blotchy. Connor hadn’t noticed he had been back at school that day, since Connor had spent all of his time ignoring Jared. He wondered if Evan’s face was red for any particular reason or if he just had some kind of blotchy face condition. That might explain why nobody ever talked to him, if he had something like medically wrong with him. Sure, Evan was sort of a loser, but he was smart, so it had always struck Connor as weird that Evan didn’t seem to have friends other than Jared.

“You don’t ride this bus,” Connor said stupidly.

Evan’s face got even redder. Connor noticed that Evan had sort of broken out in a sweat; his face was all shiny suddenly.  Connor found himself a little bit envious that Evan’s forehead wasn’t all covered in pimples. “I...I’m staying at Jared’s again.”

Connor blinked. Waiting.

For more information.

For Evan to move the hell past him and sit somewhere else.

Connor knew most of the seats were totally full, but he wasn’t in a very charitable mood. He decided he didn’t care about Evan just standing there, since he wasn’t trying to be normal anymore. Connor turned back to his book.

But then the bus driver shouted for Evan to sit down, they were _moving_ , _kid, you need to put your butt in a seat!_

Connor looked up despite himself.

Evan’s eyes darted around helplessly, and Connor could see that he was pleading desperately for somebody to give him a place to sit.

So Jared hadn’t sat with Evan.

Charming.

What a stand up guy that Jared Kleinman was.

Connor sighed heavily and moved his backpack from the usually empty seat beside him. “Just sit down. Jesus.”

Evan sat quickly, almost falling over in his rush. He smiled at Connor. Quickly. Gratefully.

Damn it.  

Connor knew he ought to ignore him. Just keep reading. He didn’t want to talk to Evan Hansen. He didn’t want to look at him. Evan was friends with Jared and since Jared was a dick then Evan was by association.

But Connor’s eyes couldn’t stay on the page, couldn’t focus on how Isaac wanted to meet lowercase will at some place in Chicago. He couldn’t concentrate. Connor sighed, closing the book. “How’s your grandpa? I heard he was sick.”

“O-oh,” Evan said, and if it was even possible, his face got redder. “H-he’s coming home from the hospital today.”

“That’s… good,” Connor said because he didn’t know how else to respond to that kind of news. Objectively people not dying was probably a good thing.

“Th-thanks.” Evan fiddled with the strap on his backpack. “My mom will probably be home in the morning...which is why I’m staying at Jared’s since our moms are friends…”

Connor nodded, short, curt, barely moving his head. Just acknowledging. He didn’t give a shit if Jared’s mom was friends with Evan’s mom. He didn’t care.

He really didn’t care.

Maybe if he kept thinking that eventually he would believe it.

“So, um, did you guys f-finish your project?”

“Yeah,” Connor said shortly. He just kind of looked out of the window.

He didn’t care.

Honestly.

“Are you going to Jared’s party this weekend?” Evan asked, twisting the ends of his t-shirt in his hands. “H-he… Jared that is, he, um, he said he was getting a DJ and that sounds liketherewillbe, uhm, dancing but anyway um, like, are-you-going?”

Connor felt his face burn. He pulled his hands into tight fists over the cover of paperback he was holding. “Fuck you.”

Evan, however, paled considerably. “W-what?”

“You think you’re being funny,” Connor accused.

Evan stared, his eyes wide. He let out what sounded like a laugh.  “Uh, no, I-”

“You’re… you’re  making fun of me for not being invited. Right? Is that it? You think it’s funny that I didn’t get invited, right?”

“H-he didn’t invite you?” Evan asked, eyebrows flying up. “I. I’m.. I-I’m s-sorry, I just th-thought he… I’m… I’m s-sorry.”

Connor said nothing. He stared down at his book.

Evan kept apologizing.

Connor said nothing, clenching his fists tighter.  

“I’m s-sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, I wasn’t trying to make fun of you, I…” Evan trailed off, looking at him hard. Like he was trying for eye contact. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought… I thought… I’m so sorry.”

Connor said nothing. Didn’t look up.

Intentionally ignoring him.

He pulled open the paperback again. Eyes trained on the book again, trying to get lost, trying to let himself get pulled into this book, trying to lose himself in something Tiny Cooper was saying.

Evan Hansen, who Jared thought was lame, was invited and he… and Connor wasn’t. Jared didn’t even _like_ Evan, he basically told Connor that he thought Evan was lame, but Evan wasn’t invited. Great. And now Evan thought Connor was easy enough to pick on. Just. Freaking. Great.

Connor’s throat burned.

How embarrassing would it be if he just started crying right there on the bus?

He would literally rather die.

Connor closed his book book again.

Pulled up the sleeve of the hoodie he was wearing to reveal the stupid Mickey Mouse bandages he had on his wrist.

He pulled them off fast, flinching a little.

The cut had scabbed over. It felt a little rough under his fingers. His wrist itched a little bit.

Connor checked to see if Evan was looking at him. He wasn’t, his head was down, he was staring at his shoes, his face red and blotchy again.

Connor picked at the scab on his until it bled again, throbbing a little.

The embarrassment sort of subsided a little bit after that.

Better.

That was better.

* * *

 

Wednesday morning. Connor had overslept and his parents hadn’t bothered to wake him for some reason and he hadn’t showered or eaten and he’d almost missed the bus.

“Look, we’re still doing this project together,” Jared said meeting Connor at his locker just before school started on Wednesday. “So can you maybe stop being such a jerk to me until it’s over?”

“You think _I’m_ being a jerk?” Connor said. “Are you serious?”

“Well… yeah! You ignored me _all day_ yesterday! I just sat there in English while you dicked round on some reddit thread. You’re doing to get me into trouble.”

“Mr. Weston likes me, relax.”

“No! We’re meant to be partners, and I can’t just sit there next to you saying nothing! I need to get this grade up, or did you forget? I need your help.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Didn’t realize you couldn’t live without me Jared-”

“Dude, _come on_ , I thought….” Jared pushed his glasses up. He looked around, nervously, like he was making sure that nobody was paying attention to him. “I thought we were, like, _friends_ , or whatever.”

Connor didn’t miss the way Jared got quiet before he said he and Connor were friends.

Connor bit his lip. “I don’t want to be friends with someone who is embarrassed to be seen with me,” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. It was true. He didn’t… Connor didn’t want that. He would rather have no friends at all then friends who couldn’t even invite him to a fucking bar mitzvah. His mom had asked about Jared’s last night too; apparently she had talked to Mrs. Kleinman about it on the phone last weekend.  Connor had to admit, red faced, that he hadn’t been invited. His mom just sort of frowned, and then Connor just… started to apologize stupidly, saying he was sorry that she had ever wasted money on the stupid suit and tie because he clearly wasn’t getting invited to anything and he should have just told her so so she could have returned it all. He ended up getting up from the dinner table without finishing his food, earning a glare from both his dad and from Zoe, heading upstairs and locking his bedroom door, trying to shove his face into his pillow deep enough that it would block the noise of him crying.

He must have done a good job.

Nobody came to check on him.

Which somehow made it _worse_.

Connor felt like someone had gutted him. This whole month had been a freaking disaster. He couldn’t believe he had ever let himself think... Every time he thought of Jared it just hurt worse. How stupid he had been to think that it would ever be anything more than working on a class project together? He should have expected it. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. It was stupid to get his hopes up. Jared didn’t like him. Didn’t like him the way that Connor liked Jared. Didn’t even want to be friends. Didn’t even invite him to something that literally everyone else had been invited to.

Jared was getting louder now, snapping Connor back into the present. “Look, I’m _sorry_! Jesus. I…  Do you want me to ask my mom if I can invite you…? I-”

“No,” Connor said shortly. “I don’t want to go your stupid fucking party.”

“Well, then what do you _want_?” Jared practically yelled.

“Careful,” Connor said, “Wouldn’t want the other kids to see you talking to me.”

Jared fell silent. His face was red. He looked ashamed and embarrassed and Connor felt a little bit pleased about that. “Screw you,” Jared practically spat.

Connor shifted his jaw. Let Jared walk off.

He walked into homeroom, his head down, and pulled a new book from his backpack. He had finished _Will Grayson, Will Grayson_. Because apparently he didn’t sleep at night anymore. He just took small naps before dinner.

The new book was called _Impulse_. It was about some kids who had all tried to kill themselves. One of the kids was gay, Connor thought.

He sort of wondered if his parents ever wondered about the books he read. Connor assumed not, or they’d fight about that too.

And his mom would cry.

And his dad would yell.

Connor wished sometimes he could just disappear into a book. Even one like this one, with the kids all in a psych ward or whatever. He would take other messed up kids like him over his real life any day.

* * *

 

Brian Harris had fucked with Evan Hansen again. Connor realized this as he walked out of jazz band on Wednesday afternoon and saw Evan trying to quietly mop up a bloody nose in the hall.

Connor knew he should say something.

Do something.

He should go, like, punch Brian in the face or whatever.

He should go talk to Evan who had been looking nervously over at Connor all day. Even though Connor wasn’t talking to Jared anymore.

Connor thought that maybe Evan wanted to be friends.

But whenever he looked at him he just thought of Evan getting invited to Jared’s bar mitzvah and him nattering on about the DJ and then Connor’s blood boiled. He couldn’t be friends with Evan fucking Hansen.

Evan wiped his bloody nose again, and then made eye contact with Connor for the briefest of seconds.

Connor rolled his eyes.

Muttered, “Loser.”

And walked off fast.

He thought he might have heard Evan say something, but he didn’t turn around or apologize. He just.

It felt good, he realized. To know he had hurt Evan freaking Hansen’s feelings. Even if that was the easiest thing in the world. It made him feel better. Like he could control one damn thing.

So fine.

If nobody wanted to be his friend, then so be it.

Connor was over being polite.

He was over it all.

So be it.

* * *

 

Thursday wasn’t so bad.

Mr. Weston announced that Connor and Jared would do their presentation the next day. Jared had tried to say something to Connor about it, but Connor just kept his eyes on his notebook, pretending he was deaf.

His classes weren’t the worst.

At lunch Connor crammed himself into an empty seat and read the whole time, picking at his food. Nobody tried to talk to him. Even Brian Harris and his lackeys left him alone.

Which suited Connor just fine.

* * *

 

Friday morning was bright and sunny.

Connor wore his favorite t-shirt, the one that was massive on him and said “Nirvana” across the chest, even though his dad hated it.

He listened to his iPod on his way to school, head shoved into his book. His mom had added songs from the band on his t-shirt for him. She said she had listened to them in college and she thought he might like it. Connor was surprised to discover he did actually like it. The singer sounded as pissed off as Connor felt a lot of the time. He seemed to hate himself. Which Connor thought was pretty damn cool. He made a mental note to google them when he was in the computer lab later that day.

By the time English class rolled around, Connor was actually feeling pretty okay. He even tried to be friendly with Jared. After all they had to do their powerpoint in front of everyone. It wouldn’t hurt to be a little nice to him. Just until it was over.

The presentation actually went pretty well. Jared didn’t talk too fast, Connor wasn’t too quiet or loud. Their slides looked good. Better than the kids who went before them at any rate. They had pictures from the movie too, which helped to explain some of their points about girliness. They talked about the differences in the book and movie. Jared agreed with Connor that the book was better.

They spent a couple of minutes talking about death and how it was such a major part of the book. The other kids asked a lot of questions, and even though most of them addressed their questions to Jared, Connor thought it went pretty good.

“Thank you Jared and Connor,” Mr. Weston said, smiling. “Go ahead and head back to your seats. We’ll have the next group come and get set up.”

Connor went back to his seat, smiling a little.

He thought he had seen something going around the room when he was up presenting. Kids handing something in a way that was meant to be sneaky. Probably some stupid note or survey or whatever. Mr. Weston had gotten sort of pissed off at the start of class and collected everyone’s phones, so Connor assumed it was just their low-tech replacement until the class ended.

So he was surprised when Jared reached over and put a folded up square of paper on the corner of Connor’s desk.

There was a note on his desk.

Connor looked at Jared, questioningly, but Jared was watching the next group with such intense focus that Connor doubted that even yelling at him loudly would have gotten Jared to turn his head.

Connor knew there was no way a not was for him. He figured he’d just open it and pass it over to whoever the intended recipient was, since there wasn’t a name on the front.

He pulled it open carefully, so it wouldn’t make noise and attract Mr. Weston’s attention.

He was surprised when he saw his own name scrawled across the top of the page.

It read, in some big girly handwriting, “Connor Murphy is… ______.”

And then below it people had filled it in with their answers.

“Gay.”

“Such a freak.”

“A total loser.”

“A psycho. Remember how he threw a printer at Mrs. G?”

“Gay for Mr. Weston.”

"Super gay for Mr. Weston."

“Definitely blowing Mr. Weston. What a fag.”

“An asshole. Seriously. I wish he would just kill himself already, do us a favor.”

“A nerd. What is he always reading? What a fucking queer.”

There were so many. Cramped handwriting, slanted, all different people had written on this. There were so many.

Connor’s heart stopped. He was going to throw up.

“Probably going to blow up the school. What a freak.”

That last one.

He knew that handwriting.

He knew it was Jared’s.

Connor knew.

He had been watching Jared write things down for several weeks.

He knew the handwriting.

He tried to take a breath, but then some kids on the other side of the room started tittering, and Connor heard a few mumble about how he had gotten the note, giggling. He kept trying to breathe, but his heart was pounding too hard, and he was definitely going to start crying unless he got up, and he couldn’t do that.

“What’s going on over here?” Mr. Weston demanded, sounding irritated. “We should be focusing on Alana and Evan’s presentation, guys, come on.”

There was a collective giggle in the class. People threw their hands over their mouths. Connor clenched his shaking hands into tight fists, trying to just breathe, just wait,  just let it go.

Jared.

Jared had fucking written on that. Which meant that Evan probably had too.

He didn’t care about the others.

But those two.

Damn it.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough, what is going on?” Mr. Weston said loudly, flipping the light back on.

“I think Connor got a note,” Celia Car said from across the room, smirking. Connor thought he had heard that Celia might be Brian Harris’s girlfriend now.

Of course.

Mr. Weston rolled his eyes. “I expect better of you, Connor,” He said, reaching down and scooping up the note just as Connor said, “No, don’t-”

He watched Mr. Weston’s eyes get wider and wider as he read the note, his lips settling into a frown. “Okay, who wrote this?”

Connor wished he could sink into the floor. Or just die then and there. This was humiliating.

“Who wrote this?” Mr. Weston repeated. “This isn’t funny. You had all better start talking or everyone is getting lunch detention.”

“Please,” Connor begged. “ _Please…_ don’t.”

“There is some serious stuff here.” Mr. Weston kept glaring out at the class. “I’m going to have to take this to the principal. And unless someone owns up to this, everyone is going to get detention. Everyone is going to have to stay inside and write an apology letter unless somebody starts talking.”

Nobody said anything. Mr. Weston sighed.

The bell rang.

Everyone got up.

Mr. Weston was shouting at everyone to sit back down but there was no chance of him getting them back now.

Connor realized for the first time how young Mr. Weston was. He was younger than Connor’s parents. He hadn’t worked at the school long.

Connor realized that Mr. Weston probably didn’t have a clue what he was doing.

Which was just.

Terrible.

Mr. Weston turned then, looking like he was going to come and talk to Connor, so Connor bolted from his seat. Ran out into the hall to see Jared Kleinman high fiving Brian Harris and his lackeys, including Josh Carter.

“Nice job, Kleinman,” Brian was saying. “Did he cry? I bet he totally fucking cried.”

Jared nodded. “He definitely did. What a pussy.”

Connor didn’t exactly know what happened next.

No that wasn’t true.

He just… felt like he was watching it from far way.

He remembered clenching his fists tightly. His thumbs on the outside.

He remembered trying to count to ten, like if he could make it to ten nothing bad would happen.

He remembered catching Evan Hansen’s eye, and Evan’s face was all red and Connor just _knew_ that Evan had been laughing at him.

And then he was watching from the other side of the room.

What he did know was one minute he was standing outside Mr. Weston’s classroom, and then a moment later Mr. Weston was pulling him bodily off of Brian Harris, who had a swollen lip and a swollen cheek, who was bleeding out of his mouth. And Josh Carter was on the floor too, holding his jaw and groaning loudly, and Jared was slumped against a locker holding his glasses, broken at the nose, looking like he was trying not to cry. Connor’s hands throbbed and so did his head and nose, and then he struggling against Mr. Weston while all of the other kids were staring, shouting every abusive thing he could think into the air, kicking and screaming, “GET OFF OF ME LET ME FUCKING GO I HATE YOU FUCK YOU GET OFF ME GET OFF I’LL KILL YOU YOU FUCKING-”

Another teacher, Mrs. Johnson, dragged Connor away from Mr. Weston by the wrist and he saw through her rough grip that his knuckles were busted and bleeding. She rushed him away from the other kids, down the hall, into the office where she sat him bodily in a chair while shouting at the secretary to call his parents. Connor could still hear them laughing in his head. He also knew he was crying, just crying, and that he couldn’t stop, he could probably never stop.

Connor just stared off into space.

His whole body hurt.

He couldn’t catch his breath.

He wondered distantly if any of the other kids had gotten hurt. If he had hurt them. He didn’t remember.

Everything hurt. He closed his eyes.

* * *

 

He was grounded indefinitely.

And suspended from school for a week.

It might have been longer if Mr. Weston hadn’t confirmed that Connor had been provoked.

But then again, now Mr. Weston was being investigated because apparently the school had to make sure he wasn’t, like, molesting Connor or whatever.

They also searched Connor’s locker and backpack to make sure he wasn’t actually planning to blow up the school. He wasn't. He didn't know how. But nobody was listening to a word he was saying.

Connor had dislocated Josh Clark’s jaw.

Broken Jared’s glasses. Brian Harris needed three stitches in his forehead after what Connor did to him. And he needed to get a chipped tooth repaired. He’d also apparently caused hundreds of dollars in property damage by throwing Connor against a locker hard enough to dent it.Connor heard from his parents arguing that Brian got suspended too. And so did Josh. He thought he heard that Jared was spared.

Connor’s parents hadn’t quit arguing since his dad picked him up at school.

Which was how he knew was really bad. If his mom refused to come get him....

His dad had picked him up and demanded that Connor stop crying, which just made it _so_ much worse. 

Zoe came home in tears saying her friend Sabrina Patel had uninvited Zoe to a birthday party because Sabrina’s mom had heard about the fight from some PTA mom and said that Zoe was clearly a bad influence and that Sabrina couldn't hang out with Zoe anymore.

"Why is everything always about _you_?" Zoe sobbed before she slammed the door in his face. 

Connor heard her crying half the night in her room.

He felt awful.

Just terrible.

He didn’t want to leave his bedroom. Ever. He wanted to die. 

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and felt sick.

Connor a bruise under his eye. Both of his eyes were red, redder than the time he got stoned.  His nose was swollen but not broken (the nurse had checked). His hands were beat to hell.

His alien haircut made it worse.

If he stayed in his room he would die. He knew this. He didn't know how.

Connor walked down the stairs.

His mom was sitting on the couch, folding laundry. She looked like she had been crying. “Sweetheart, are you okay? Can I get you anything?”

Connor shook his head. He sat down next to her and started to help fold the laundry. Anything to keep from sitting still. Anything to keep from being alone.

“I’m so sorry about what happened at school.”

He nodded, not speaking.

“Your dad… he said…” His mom sighed. “I know that he told you that you shouldn’t be afraid to hit someone back, but. Connor, honey, you can’t hit them first. You could have gotten into a lot more trouble. You could have seriously hurt them.”

“I know,” Connor said. Choked out. His voice was cracking, his throat was burning. He just stared at the shirt in his bruised hands. “I... “ He looked at his mom, knowing how pathetic he was, know how fucking sad he was, “Mom… I.” He swallowed. He was just… just fucking crying. “Mom...why don’t they like me?”

“Oh, sweetie,” His mom said, putting down the towel she was folding to put her arms around him.

“I…” He hiccupped, but he couldn’t stop, he was just crying on his mom’s shoulder now, just so wrecked. His mom rubbed his back and Connor couldn't remember the last time he had let his mom hug him like this. Or at all.

God he was so terrible.

She was crying too, he could tell.

He didn’t mean to be like this.

He tried he really tried.

“I don’t want…” Connor said, but then stopped because it was like someone had punched him in the gut. “I hate this. I hate this… I’m so sorry, mom, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Sweetie, there is nothing wrong with you,” His mom said, hugging him tighter.

But Connor knew she was wrong.

There was something seriously wrong with him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he kept repeating.

“Connor, please, sweetheart, you don’t have to be sorry… none of this is your fault…”

He hiccuped again. This was utterly humiliating.

He just…

He wanted to die.

He couldn’t keep doing this.

He wanted to die.

“Connor, you don’t really mean that,” His mom said, pulling him away from her, holding out at an arm's length. “You don’t really want to kill yourself.”

He hadn’t meant to say it outloud.

He hadn’t meant her to hear him.

Fuck.

But he couldn’t stop the words now, they were just spewing out of him, and he said, “Yes. I do. I really do. I don’t want to be alive anymore. I want to die. I want-”

“No,” His mom said, and it was so forceful that he immediately shut up. “You’re not doing that, okay? We’ll… we’ll figure something out, okay? I’ll… It’ll be okay.”

He nodded then because what else could he do?

His mom hugged him tightly again. “I love you so much. You’re going to be okay.”

“Love you too,” he mumbled.

But Connor didn’t believe her that things would be okay.

Especially not after he crawled into bed to the sounds of his dad saying that Connor was “obviously only pretending to be suicidal for attention, Cynthia, can't you see that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from:  
> Snitches and Talkers Get Stitches and Walkers by Fall Out Boy
> 
> Books mentioned:  
> Will Grayson Will Grayson - John Green & David Levithan  
> Impulse - Ellen Hopkins


	6. I Love Life (But Life Has a Boyfriend)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is miserable. Tell me something I don't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter includes a description of derealization/depersonalization and a description of self harm.

His parents took away his phone and computer. Since he was grounded.

Not that it mattered since there was nobody who would contact him anyway.

He spent Saturday afternoon in his bedroom, miserable, his face still aching, his mom still hovering.

He wondered about Jared’s glasses. Did he have a spare pair? Was he going to have a black eye in his bar mitzvah photos? Had Connor ruined that too?

His head was a mess. A massive mess. A collection of scratched out doodles. He felt the way he had on vacation last year, when they flown to California and their flight left at six in the morning so they had to get up at like three in the morning only Connor hadn’t gone to bed at all, so he felt sort of microwaved, sort of strange all day. He told his dad about it and his dad bought him a Coke and when that didn’t do it he got him another one and then he was just so spaced out all day, his brain dragging on the ground behind him, barely catching things, tired and wired and a mess.

Connor’s head was a mess.

He couldn’t quite swallow the lump in his throat.

His mom just kept looking at him and sighing.

His dad wouldn’t look at him at all. Zoe wouldn’t either. He felt like he was trapped behind thick soundproof glass, screaming and shouting and waving his arms and nobody would even look up.

Sometime around six thirty, after dinner, when Connor had retreated to his bedroom again, not even bothering to pick up a book, his dad came to the door.

“Jesus, Connor, go outside or something.”

Connor blinked. Frowned. “I’m grounded.”

“Just… go in the backyard or something then, I’m sick of seeing you moping around.”

Connor got to his feet slowly and trudged down the stairs and out the back door. He sighed, crossing the backyard and sitting on a swing hanging from the swing set that hadn’t been used in a long time. He sighed, sort of kicking at the grass.

He and Zoe used to play out here when they were super little. Some time before they started fighting constantly. He didn’t know when exactly they stopped. Probably around nine or ten. Something weird happened then. He didn’t know what it was.

Connor used to push Zoe sometimes, on the swing. So she could go higher.

Or they’d compete to see how high they could get. Or how high they could jump off from. Until Zoe sprained an ankle that way. Then they weren’t allowed to jump off anymore.

He was running out of space in his head for all the things he wasn’t allowed to do anymore. Things were getting cluttered and he just couldn’t keep track. He wished he could delete the useless stuff from his mind: old passwords, memories with friends who hated him now like Brian, the way that Jared always gripped the straps of his backpack when he was excited or nervous, all of the words to the original Pokemon theme song.

He wanted to clear out space.

Though if he could start deleting things, he’d probably just delete himself.

And if he couldn’t delete himself, then he’d want to delete everything about himself. Maybe if he was a blank slate he wouldn’t be so much of a loser. Maybe if he was a blank slate he could muddle through the eighth grade next year and start fresh in high school.

...Maybe if he hadn’t screwed around and actually did his homework he could have actually skipped a grade and started high school early like he and his parents had briefly talked about before he started at the middle school. When he still talked to Brian. When he still had friends.

At the start of the year he just kept thinking things would be better once he got older. Things would straighten themselves out next year. That would be the year that he got it together.

Connor didn’t think that anymore.

He was starting to think it would never get better.

He was starting to run out of ideas about how not to feel like this all of the time. He tried keeping his head down, he tried being normal, he tried fighting back… each with even more disaster to report back.

He wondered, stupidly, if his dad really hated him.

Which.

Obviously he did.

It hurt though. That he hated Connor so much.

There wasn’t a single safe place he could be anymore.

He wondered if he could hang himself off of the swing set.

But it was too low to the ground, he thought.

Connor got off of the swing. Laid out in the grass. Stared at the sky.

Wished it would just come crashing down and crush him. Or suck him up into it for no real reason.

Connor pulled up a fistful of grass. Then another. He pulled and yanked until he wasn’t tempted to cry anymore.

Jared’s fucking bar mitzvah was that day.

And he wasn’t invited.

And Connor felt like he could fit the Grand Canyon into the hole ripped open in his chest.

He’d thought…

He liked Jared.

He thought…

Jared had been nice. And funny. He’d thought…

He knew Jared didn’t like him back, not that way, not the weird and wrong way that he carried inside of him… but Connor thought...

But Jared participated in the stupid note. He wrote down the kind of thing that Connor was always worried about. He wasn’t… he wasn’t dangerous. He tried to be good, be better, it was just harder for him.

But maybe he was dangerous. Maybe it was so obvious. Maybe Jared always knew.

Knew Connor was a bad person.

Knew that throwing printers was the least he could do.

A monster.

He’d proved it too, yesterday. Breaking glasses, dislocating jaws.

Fuck.

He kind of wished he had a cigarette. Which was dumb because he couldn’t smoke one here in his parents’ yard… But he thought it might solve the burning inside of him with a literal burning.

* * *

 

“Connor? Are you still outside?”

It was dark then.  He must have fallen asleep. He sat up. “Yeah mom.”

“Come inside sweetie, it’s getting late.”

He got to his feet slowly.

Something wasn’t quite right.

It didn’t really… feel… real.

Connor blinked slowly. Things were sort of… weird. Not right. Sort of like swimming through syrup. He felt like he’d maybe seen this movie before. Or something. Things didn’t quite make sense.

His mom kept looking at him from across the lawn.

The world felt like it might tip over at any moment, break free from its strings and tilt.

He felt tired. Or something. Like he’d fallen asleep watching a movie and now he was dreaming about the movie. Or like when he stayed up too late reading and the next day he sort of felt like he was in the book.

“Connor?”

It took him a full minute to realize his mom was talking to him.

Something wasn’t right.

She was just staring at him. Just staring. Staring.

“Honey?”

“Sorry…”

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep? You look exhausted,” She said, touching the side of his face gently. Like a mom in a movie or something, like the mom in _Speak_ when Melinda was little.

Connor tried to nod, but his head felt like a bobble head that couldn’t stop bobbing.

“I talked to your dad,” She said, and Connor realized he wasn’t looking at her so he tried to look like he had been looking at her. It was hard. His head felt like it wasn’t really in the room. “I think… since you’re out of school this week, you and I are going to go to…” She sighed. “We’re going to go to the doctor, alright?”

“Why?”

“I’m… I’m worried about you honey. I just want to make sure everything’s okay.”

Connor had no idea what that meant. He sort of felt like he was having this conversation underwater, playing mermaids in the kitchen. “The only thing wrong with me is my hair,” he said, stupidly, and his mom smiled like he was making a joke and she touched the soft hair that was starting to creep back into place on his scalp.

“At least I can see your pretty eyes again.”

He didn’t like his eyes, but he didn’t roll them for once.

He thought they were just… weird.

He didn’t say anything.

Connor looked down. He looked at his feet in the shoes he had drawn all over and… that wasn’t right.

He could see them kind of turning in and the toe of the shoe was kind of moving but he wasn’t doing that was he?

Connor blinked because… well he was awake but it was kind of like he was dreaming. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be anywhere.

He wasn’t sure he had ever been anywhere.

Maybe he was slowly drifting away or something. Maybe he had wished hard enough to die and it was happening slowly.

Maybe he was just fucking crazy.

“Go on up to bed, honey.”

He nodded as best he could, then kind of… Just. He knew he must have walked up the stairs but his head just kind of floated above it all.

He felt like he was in a book.

He felt like.

Wrong.

* * *

 

Connor went to his bedroom. He could hear Zoe on the phone with someone, and she sounded upset. He tried to think of ways to make her feel better. When they were little kids he would always apologize first. He would do stupid things like crack jokes and draw pictures and one time he even let Zoe paint his fingernails until she relented and said she forgave him.

He didn’t apologize first anymore.

Sometimes he didn’t even apologize at all.

Connor concluded that suddenly disappearing would probably be the best for Zoe. That would be the thing that would make her feel better.

Except he was exhausted and too keyed up and had no way out.

So, instead he closed the door and just laid down, his face in the pillows until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Rolled over.

Kept picking at the scab on his wrist until it oozed out a little bit of blood. It wasn’t bleeding as much anymore. Healing, or something. He’d have to make another one if it he wanted to keep bleeding.

The little flashes of pain helped though. He felt less spaced out.

Just a little.

Eventually he rolled out of bed, realizing that the scab just wasn’t going to cut it anymore (no pun intended), and went into his top drawer.

Years and years ago, when he was still a boy scout, his grandpa had passed away and Connor had the same initials as him so he got this old pocket knife.

It wasn’t sharp. He could tell when he opened it and pressed it to his thumb. Connor thought he could have pressed as hard as he could and not draw blood.

He wished he had the internet…

He checked the clock.

It was after one in the morning… When had that happened?

He sighed.

And realized Zoe’s phone was in the other room. And she was almost certainly asleep.

He walked quietly as he could to her room. Tested the lock. Peeked inside and saw she was totally passed out, lights still on. Her phone was sitting on the bedside table.

He picked it up, and unlocked it fast because Zoe’s passcode was her birthday and had always been her birthday.

He typed fast, quickly, “how to sharpen a pocket knife.”

His eyes flashed when he realized that his mom definitely had a honing rod in the kitchen. He closed the tab on Zoe’s phone, locked it and put it back on the nightstand.

She frowned in her sleep.

Connor reached over and pulled the covers up around her shoulders.

He thought of the way she had written about Brian Harris in her diary. His brain flickered through all of the handwriting on the note he had gotten in school suddenly. Had Zoe written on it? Had she known about it? He wished he hadn’t torn up her diary so he could have found out.

She probably had known about the note, even if she hadn’t written on it.

She’d been so busy crying in her room because of Sabrina Patel that she didn’t seem to notice that he literally had the worst day of his life.

It made Connor so angry.

He almost wanted to scream at her until she woke up and then scream at her more.

For a second, a crazy second, he thought about putting a pillow over Zoe’s face and pressing down. About plunging the dull knife into her neck.

He didn’t know why he thought that.

Why had he thought that?

That was a little bit scary.

More than a little bit scary.

He was such a psycho, such a freak. He pressed his hands into tighter fists, closed hard until they shook.

He couldn’t breathe right.

He didn’t really want to kill his sister, right?

Right?

He was fucking crazy.

He needed to get out of there.

On his way out turned out the light.

And decided that he needed to stay far away from Zoe.

* * *

 

Connor had to take a little time to catch his breath on the stairs after he left Zoe’s room. He didn’t what was wrong with him but his breathing was ragged and his chest hurt.

He half wondered if he might die.

Half hoped.

He just curled up into a ball and waited for it to stop because he didn’t know what else he could even do. This hadn’t happened before.

His brain just sort of repeated itself over and over and over like a CD skipping.

He’d wanted to kill Zoe.

He’d wanted to kill Zoe.

He wanted to kill Zoe.

He was crazy.

He was insane.

He was a psycho.

He wanted to kill his little sister.

He was crazy.

Psycho killer.

He was a psycho killer.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Eventually, after minutes or hours or several weeks in total darkness, the knives in his chest disappeared and his breathing slowed. He was absolutely drenched in sweat. He felt sick to his stomach. Connor stayed huddled at the top of the stairs until he was sure he could move his arms and legs again.

As he laid there at the top of the stairs, Connor thought inexplicably of Evan Hansen’s weird freak out that day when Brian jumped him in gym.

Was that what had happened to Evan too?

Connor couldn’t quite move for a while.

Once he could move again, Connor got up.

Went into the kitchen.

And sharpened the knife the way that the article he read in Zoe’s room had said to do it. It took a little bit of time, but eventually he got it so sharp that even the gentlest pressure against the pad of his thumb raised a drop of blood.

* * *

He got a little carried away that night, after he sharpened the knife. He got too mesmerized by how easily he bled and ended up making three new marks on his arms. He got to excited to feel something that nobody had done to him, to make himself hurt, not make someone else hurt, not be on the receiving end of it.

Connor swallowed as he went to the bathroom to clean up the blood.

He had wanted to hurt Zoe.

That was not right.

That wasn’t.

He didn’t _really_ want to hurt her.

Did he?

He couldn’t really…

An image of her, bleeding everywhere, her eyes big and scared flashed into his mind and he suddenly was gagging, leaning over the toilet, getting sick at the idea.

Connor didn’t really want to hurt Zoe. He didn’t. He was just crazy, he was just stupid, he didn’t really want to hurt her did he?

But.

Just in case, he made sure he paid for it.

He needed to be more careful.

Or he needed to start cutting deeper.

* * *

 

On Sunday morning his dad woke him up by shouting.

Apparently the Kleinmans had called and said that thought it was appropriate for Connor’s parents to pay for Jared’s replacement glasses since it was Connor’s fault that Jared needed them.

Admittedly, Connor thought that _was_ fairly reasonable. He had snapped their kid’s glasses.

“Can’t fucking believe this Connor, do you have any idea how much you’re costing us?”

He said nothing.

He didn’t say that his dad probably could afford to buy Jared Kleinman fifty pairs of glasses with the amount he paid for useless crap like golf and the country club membership.

“So you have nothing to say, is that it?” His dad said, and Connor could see his mom and Zoe both watching in pajamas from near the door. “Aren’t you even sorry?”  
“They were making fun of me!” He heard his voice protesting. “You said that they wouldn’t leave me alone if I let them kick me around so I didn’t let them and now I’m in trouble! It’s not fair!”

“Not fair?” His dad said, shaking his head. “Not fair? Seriously, you didn’t think for even a minute that you shouldn’t hit them that hard? Are you _stupid_?”

“That’s what you told me to do!” Connor said, desperately, his eyes flicking toward his mother who stood there, staring. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…. That’s what you _told_ me…”

His dad scoffed. “That is not what I meant and you know it,” He said, shaking his head. He turned to Connor’s mom, looking disgusted. “He knows better than this Cynthia. He doesn’t listen.”

“I’m right here!” Connor said, getting to his feet, hands clenched tightly into fists.

“I don’t know what to do with with him anymore, Cynthia!” His dad said, throwing his hands up, ignoring him. “I can’t deal with this.”

His dad stormed out of the room.

Connor looked at his mom helplessly. “I’ll… I’ll pay for the glasses, you can… take away my allowance or take it from my communion money… I…”

His mom sighed, then came over and patted his cheek. “Don’t worry about it. We can take care of some glasses.”

Connor nodded.

He didn’t really feel any better.

His mom left the room, and Zoe stayed in the door for a minute before hurrying away.

Connor swallowed, his hands still balled up tightly.

He kicked out at his desk chair, knocking it over with a crash. He knocked the lamp on his desk to the floor, picked up some books and chucked them. He was just so angry. He threw his shoes, threw all of the pencils he had in a cup against the wall, and just… Kept going. He wrenched the desk open, throwing all of the contents in the drawers to the floor. Then he reached over the desk and pulled and pulled until the desk overturned and landed with a loud crash.

“Connor what the hell?”

Zoe was standing in the door, and Connor shouted “LEAVE ME ALONE!” throwing a stapler from his floor at her. She ducked out of the way screaming for their parents.

He didn’t care, he didn’t care, he wanted them all to just stop.

His dad was back upstairs in a flash, grabbing Connor by his upper arm and dragging him out of the room which was utterly trashed, several things were broken, there was a dent in the wall. He grabbed Connor’s shoulders and shook him, shouting, “What is the matter with you?” Then he grabbed his arm again, tighter, more painfully, and started dragging him down the steps.

And then he mom was there at the bottom of the steps shouting, “Larry, what are you doing?” But his dad kept dragging him until they got into the car. His dad practically threw him into the passenger seat and that’s when his mom chased them outside, shouting again.

“Just where do you think you are going?” She shouted.

“He can’t stay here,” His dad said. “He’s going to hurt someone for real next time Cynthia. I’m taking him to my mom’s, she’s already made a call to get him started at the bootcamp this summer-”

“Larry, don’t you dare!” His mother was shouting now, and Connor could tell that neighbors were staring. She went around to the passenger side of the car. “Come on Connor, get out of the car.”

He glanced nervously at his father but did as he was told.

“I already told you Cynthia, this is just for attention… Taking him to some quack shrink who’ll just tell us everything we screwed up isn’t going to change that.”

“Maybe he needs attention, Larry, something is clearly wrong!”

His dad shook his head.

Got in the car.

Sped off, out of the driveway and down the street.

His mom pulled him into a tight hug. “It’ll be okay, honey, we’re going to figure this out.”

* * *

 

The next day, once Zoe got home from school, his mom knocked on his door.

“Come on, Connor, we’re going to the Kleinmans’.”

“Why?” he asked, barely lifting his head from his pillow.

“Because I’m going to pay them for the glasses, and you’re going to apologize to Jared.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know, honey, but sometimes you have to do things you don’t want.”

She said it like he was stupid, like he was a little kid who didn’t know you needed to say you were sorry.

“He… we were hanging out all of the time and he…” Connor trailed off. He realized he was still too embarrassed to admit that he had gotten his hopes up about Jared’s stupid bar mitzvah. So instead he said, “He was making fun of me. He helped to write that note.”

His mom frowned. “Do you know what he said?”

“He’s the one who said I was going to blow up the school.”

His mom frowned. “That wasn’t very nice. But you still need to apologize.”

“I know.”

“Go put your shoes on.”

* * *

 

The Kleinmans must have known that they were coming because Mrs. Kleinman and Jared both walked outside the moment they pulled into the driveway.

Connor was relieved to see that Jared’s face wasn’t all bruised or anything. He clearly had new glasses on, but other than a little scratch on the bridge of his nose he looked okay.

When they got out of the car, Connor’s mom put an arm on the back of his neck. So he couldn’t run away.

“Hi Rebecca.”

“Hi Cynthia,” Jared’s mom said with a tight, unfriendly smile.

Connor looked at Jared uneasily. Jared wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Connor, don’t you have something to say?” His mom said as she pulled out her checkbook.

“I’m sorry for hitting you and breaking your glasses,” Connor mumbled, staring at his shoes.

“It’s okay,” Jared said, eyes fixed on the concrete.

Connor’s mom looked a little bit expectantly at Jared. She was waiting for him to apologize back.

He didn’t.

She looked at Mrs. Kleinman, smiling. “I’m so sorry the boys had a fight,” She said, not sounding especially sorry. “But considering that Jared was the one who started it, it might be appropriate for him to apologize as well.”

Mrs. Kleinman’s face flushed. “Considering that your son can’t seem to control his temper, perhaps it would be for the best if you didn’t comment on my choices as a parent.”

Connor’s mom looked offended. “Come on, Connor,” she said, sighing. “We need to be going.”

She rushed him off of the Kleinmans’ lawn. Connor looked back at Jared, whose face was all red, whose mother was speaking to him sternly. They got into the car, and Connor’s mom sped off. Connor just stared out the window.  “I can’t believe that woman,” She said, shaking her head. “Horrible.”

Connor just leaned his head against the glass and sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Death for My Birthday" by Say Anything.


	7. The Kind of Kid That Can't Let Anything Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor goes to therapy. Larry won't have it. Cynthia has had it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Therapy visit this time. Also discussion of self harm and suicidal thoughts.

On Wednesday during the week of his suspension, Connor’s mom woke him up at his regular school time, telling him to get into the shower because he had a doctor’s appointment. He did it without complaint because he was trying not to keep opening his mouth and making things worse for himself. That was his new plan. Shutting up, saying nothing. Potentially forever.

He got undressed while he waited for the water to warm up in the shower, catching his reflection in the mirror despite his best efforts to avoid looking at it. 

It. 

That was what he was. He didn’t even look like a person. His reflection didn’t resemble a human being. 

The bruises on his face had faded a bit, yellowing around the edges. 

His hair still looked really stupid, so he didn’t bother looking at that. He knew it was only a matter of time until you could see down to his scalp, but it was still a bit of an alarming change for him to focus on. 

He didn’t like looking at himself. 

He knew he wasn’t much to look at. Skinny and pale and like something that shouldn’t be exposed to light. Like a worm or something. 

But then his eyes caught. 

Shit. 

His arms were a mess. 

A really, really noticeable mess. There had only been four marks this weekend, but it had been a bad week and… 

Shit.

One or two near his shoulder. 

A few on the inside of his left elbow. 

Several on his left wrist. 

All of them bright against the white of his skin. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. 

They took your pulse at the doctor’s office, didn’t they? And your blood pressure. He was screwed. He was screwed. 

Crap. 

Could he get away with just handing his right arm over to the nurse? He could probably do that. He could...

Connor sighed, and showered fast, because he was going to need some extra time to pick out fucking clothes. 

Naturally this had to happen when it was practically May. Naturally the moment it was getting warm… His mom was going to notice, she was going to say something…

He brushed his teeth fast, and rushed back into his bedroom, picking out this one long sleeve shirts his mom had picked out for him around his birthday. He was banking on her getting distracted by the fact that he was wearing something she had picked out that she wouldn’t question the fact that he never willingly wore longsleeves. 

As he was about to run down the stairs to meet his mom and try to convince her that really, he was a little bit old for her to come into the doctor’s office with him, why didn’t she just sit in the waiting room….Connor paused. 

Fished the pocket knife from his desk. 

And decided he shouldn’t have that for a while, since he didn’t seem capable of being careful. 

He chucked it into his closet, under a box of old stuffed animals and toys his mom kept forgetting to donate when she went into town. 

“Connor come on, you need to eat before we go!”

“Coming!” He yelled distractedly, hurrying down the stairs.

* * *

 

He knew something was up when he got into the car. 

Should have fucking known. 

“I’m not going in there,” He said, shaking his head violently as they approached the door which read “Pine Ridge Health & Psychiatry” and listed a few names underneath, Dr. P. Sherman, Dr. C. Collins…

“Connor, you agreed…” his mother said, sighing. 

He crossed his arms over his chest tightly. “You said you wanted to go to the  _ doctor _ . Not a shrink. You think I’m crazy.”

His mother’s face fell. “No, sweetheart… of course I don’t. I’m worried about you. I just want you to talk to Dr. Sherman, that’s all, I swear…”

“I’m not crazy,” Connor said desperately, even though, like, objectively he probably  _ was  _ crazy. Like, clinically speaking he was losing it if the last couple of weeks were anything to go off of. But this town was way too small to get away with seeing a therapist. Someone at school’s mom would work here and mention it and it would just make things worse. “I’m sorry I said all of that stuff the other night, I didn’t mean it, I was just… please don’t make me go in there.”

His mom crossed her arms over her chest. “Connor. Please.”

He shook his head again, “I’m not going.”

Connor watched his mom look at her watch, frowning. “Yes. You are. I’ve already made this appointment, and I spent all week arguing with your father to get him to even consider letting you speak with a therapist. You’re going.”

“I don’t want to go,” he said, and he knew he was just being whiny, he knew he was pushing it and any moment she’d be dragging him inside by the elbow. “ _ Please _ .”

“This will be good for you,” She insisted, trying to smile, putting her arm around his shoulders and giving him a not-so-gentle nudge toward the door. “You just need a little help honey, and this will help.”

There were at least two hundred things he could say to hurt his mom that second. He could yell that he hated her, make a huge scene, carry on about how she clearly didn’t give a shit about him because if she did she would have had to decency to take him out of town before forcing him to go to therapy. 

But he kept his mouth shut and his head down.

* * *

 

“Hi Connor. I’m Dr. Sherman. It’s nice to meet you.” 

He was holding out his hand for a handshake. Connor took it numbly, shaking it. 

The guy wasn’t old, really. Maybe as old as Connor’s parents. His skin was a warm brown, his black hair wavy and probably a little too long for someone as almost as old as his dad. Connor wondered if his dad would think Dr. Sherman needed a haircut. 

He also wondered why his dad had said it was okay to be here. 

“Follow me please.”

Connor shot one last desperate look at his mother, but she was just smiling at him over a copy of  _ Good Housekeeping.  _

Resigned, Connor followed Dr. Sherman  down a short hallway. All of the doors had little white machines outside of them. They looked like UFOs. 

White noise machines, Connor thought, because he had read a book about this girl in a mental hospital and she had talked about the UFO white noise machines. To mask the voices inside of the room. 

“In here please,” Dr. Sherman said, pulling open a door. He stood back from it, waiting for Connor to go inside. 

So he walked in. 

The room was painted yellow. Like a sunflower. He thought that was an odd choice. As were the little decorative giraffes on the table and in the corner. 

There were two arm chairs, with a small table in between them. The table had a box of tissues, placed slightly off center. 

Tissues. 

Because crazy people cried in here. 

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Dr. Sherman said, smiling. They were both standing in the middle of the room. Connor felt stupid because in his mind there would be, like, a couch or something, like in movies. He hadn’t expected a pair of armchairs. 

He didn’t know the rules here, which chair Dr. Sherman usually sat in. Connor bit his lip, frustrated. He looked at this guy, this shrink, uncertainly. What did it say about him if he chose the left chair over the right? Or should he pick the right just because he wanted the left chair? He wished he could just leave, because this was…. He couldn’t actually be here, in a psychiatrist’s office. If he was here then he was actually, officially crazy. He’d end up like those zombie kids who lived out of a pill bottle and could never properly speak.  

He looked back at Dr. Sherman, still smiling at him, and realized he was just standing in the middle of the freaking room like an idiot. 

“Whichever one is fine.”

Connor shuffled to the left chair, perching on the edge of it, prepared, mentally, to charge out of the room if he needed. He looked down at his shoes, wishing he had worn a pair that he hadn’t drawn all over. He felt like his whole life story was suddenly on display on those shoes. All of the song lyrics, the little doodles of trees...

Dr. Sherman smiled, taking a seat in the other chair. He crossed his legs at the knee when he sat. Connor thought that made him look kind of girly. Or gay. 

He hoped it wasn’t obvious that he was thinking that this therapist was gay. That seemed sort of rude.

“So, why don’t we get started by talking about why you’re here?”

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Connor snapped. 

Dr. Sherman didn’t really react. “Can you say more about what you mean by that?”

Connor shifted his jaw. He didn’t really want to say anything. “My mom. Says. I need help. She made me come here.”

Dr. Sherman nodded, giving what Connor imagined he thought was an encouraging smile. Frankly, it looked a little smug. Connor wondered what would happen if he punched a therapist. He’d probably go to jail if he really hurt the guy. Maybe jail wasn’t such a terrible idea, since he was obviously crazy. 

“Do  _ you  _ feel like you need help, Connor?”   


He rolled his eyes. “No.”

“Can you tell me why you disagree with you mother?”

Connor clenched his fists tightly. He did not want to be here, he didn’t want to be here. “I mean. I can. But I  _ won’t _ .”

He knew he was just being difficult. Petulant. Acting like a child.

He wasn’t telling this guy anything though. That was for damn sure. 

“Connor, you can say anything you want in here. Nothing you say to me will be repeated to anyone else.”

He knew that. He’d seen a therapist on TV before. He wasn’t stupid. He crossed his arms over his chest. 

Connor also knew that was totally crap. If he ran his mouth and said how he really felt, what it was really like in his head, how he wanted to die and sometimes wanted to just… hurt other people because at least he didn’t hurt when it happened…

He knew that was a one way ticket to a padded room. 

“Alright… Why don’t I tell you what your mom told me about you then?”

Connor blinked, not moving  any other part of his body. 

Dr. Sherman smiled. “Well, your mom said you’ve been having some problems at school. That you don’t get along very well with the people in your classes.”

Connor doubted his mother would have called his classmates “people.” She’d absolutely call them “kids.” Because she treated him like he was about five years old and also a moron. 

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move, tried not to breathe too hard. 

Dr. Sherman went on. “She also mentioned that you got suspended for getting into a fight with some guys who were picking on you.”

_ “Guys?” _

This guy was trying too hard to talk like kids did. 

He’d probably call someone a dude in a second. 

Fucking weirdo.

“Your mom said that after that happened that you told her you wanted to die.”

Connor froze. Felt utterly betrayed, by his mom for blabbing, by his own big mouth for saying that in front of her in the first place. 

“I was thinking… if it’s okay with you… that maybe you could tell me about that.”

No. That was  _ not _ okay by Connor. 

No fucking way. 

He said nothing. 

“Do you want to know what I think, Connor?” Dr. Sherman said after a few minutes. “I think it was incredibly brave of you to tell your mom that was how you were feeling. I know that can be a really scary place to be. You made the right call, telling someone.”

Well  _ that _ was obviously a lie. 

If he had made the right call his mom wouldn’t have dragged him to see some shrink.

Connor rolled his eyes. 

Dr. Sherman’s smile slipped a little. “Connor, you know, I think I can help you. I think you really could start to feel better, and very soon, if you were willing to tell me a little bit about why you told your mom that you wanted to kill yourself. But I can’t do much of anything if you’re not going to talk to me.”

Connor bit his lip. There was… 

He wasn’t stupid enough to feel hopeful anymore. 

But there was this sudden pain in his chest. Like some part of him was hopeful even if he tried to crush it down. 

“Everyone hates me.”

“Why do you say that?”

Connor stared at his shoes. “I don’t have any friends. Everyone at school makes fun of me. My little sister… her name’s Zoe…. she hates me too.”

“And how do you know that people hate you, Connor? Have they told you that they hate you?”

Connor nodded, feeling somehow ever stupider.

Dr. Sherman’s eyebrows flew up. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Connor. That sounds incredibly painful.”

Connor glared at him.  _ No shit, Sherlock.  _

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself, Connor? It might help me-”

“Why do you keep saying my name like that?” Connor asked, cutting across him irritably. It was really bothering him that he’d heard his name more times in the few minutes he had been in this room than he had in months at home or school. 

Dr. Sherman leaned forward. “Does it bother you that I’ve been saying your name?”

“Wouldn’t it bother you if I ended every sentence with ‘ _ Dr. Sherman _ ,’ Dr. Sherman?”

“Not especially,” He said, smiling a little. “But if it bothers you, I won’t say your name.”

Connor slouched back into chair, crossing his arms tighter. Now he felt even stupider. Why had he said anything at all. 

“Can you please tell me more about yourself?” Dr. Sherman said, still smiling. “It would really help me to better understand how you’ve been feeling lately.”

Connor shrugged. “There’s not a lot to know.”

Dr. Sherman smiled. “Still. I’d like to know more about you.”

Connor straightened up, uncrossing his arms. He clenched his hands into fists, rubbing his knuckles on his jeans. “I like to read…”

“What do you read?”

Connor shrugged. “Just… everything. Books, mostly. Sometimes I’ll read the newspaper… I go on a couple of websites too, mostly to find more books to read...”

“What’s your favorite book?”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know… I read the Harry Potter books a lot when I was younger. I still read them sometimes. And _ Lord of the Rings,  _ I guess. I really liked this book called  _ Speak _ that I read recently. I just did a school project on  _ Bridge to Terabithia. _ ”

“Is there anything that those books have in common?”

Connor sighed unclenching his fists and rubbing his sweaty hands on his jeans again. “I dunno. I guess they all… all of those ones are… they let the main characters be sad sometimes.”

“And you like that? That they’re allowed to feel sad?”

Connor shrugged. “I guess.” It sounded so stupid once he said it outloud. Dr. Sherman was writing something down on his clipboard. Probably something like, “Damn this kid is so lame.”

“How come?”

Connor looked up, not understanding. 

“How come you like that the characters in books you read are allowed to feel sad?” Connor shrugged again. 

“Are you sad, Connor?”

He flinched at the sound of his name. He bit his lip. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay if you are sad.”

“It’s not though.”

“Why?”

He bit down on his lip harder, the feeling of emptiness rising in him again. He imagined spilling his guts. Shouting, crying. Admitting that he was hurting himself because recently he felt like nothing was real, like he was imaginary, and how he thought about hurting Zoe this weekend and how sick that made him feel. He thought about just screaming, screaming that everyone hated him, his dad hated him, his mom was scared of him, Zoe thought he was a loser…. He thought about just dumping out all of the stuff about Jared. About how he thought Jared was his friend, how he thought about making Jared laugh for days after it happened, how sad he was that he’d been the one who broke Jared’s old glasses because he liked those glasses, how it hurt that Jared hadn’t invited him to the bar mitzvah because it popped the idiotic bubble inside of him where he thought that maybe, just maybe, someone from school actually liked him. 

Connor thought about the scene in the fifth Harry Potter book, after Sirius dies, and Harry smashed everything in Dumbledore’s office until he felt better. He tried to imagine doing that. Screaming that he didn’t want to be human anymore if it meant feeling the way he felt all of the time. 

_ “THEN — I — DON’T — WANT — TO — BE — HUMAN! I DON’T CARE! I’VE HAD ENOUGH, I’VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON’T CARE ANYMORE —” _

But the thing was he didn’t deserve to freak out like that. Harry Potter, the character, had lost people. That scene saw him after he lost the closet thing to a dad he had ever had, the only adult who had known Harry’s parents and cared about him. He had lost nearly everyone he cared about and everyone who cared about him. 

Nobody cared about Connor because he was awful. 

And worse, he knew it. 

He knew how awful he was but he couldn’t seem to do anything about it. 

He wasn’t defeating evil wizards or even speaking up about someone who hurt him. All he did was sulk and read and cry and hurt people. 

He didn’t want to be human. He wanted out, he’d admitted as much to his mom. 

But he didn’t even deserve to feel that way. 

“You don’t have to tell me why you don’t think it’s okay to feel sad if you don’t want to talk about it,” Dr. Sherman said, smiling this weird smile, like a kindergarten teacher. “Though I might ask you to think about it after you leave.”

“Like homework?”

“A little bit, yeah. I just want you to give it some thought.”

Connor sighed.  _ Great _ . 

“What do you do to make yourself feel better when you’re sad?” Dr. Sherman asked him. 

_ Feel _ better?   


Feel  _ better _ ?

There was no feeling better. There was not better, at all. Period. He knew that now. 

Even books, even reading which was about the only thing he even liked didn’t help. 

There was no better. Nothing was going to get better for him. 

He shrugged again. “Read mostly.”

“Anything else?”

He thought about the cutting. The smoking, cigarettes and weed. The time he got drunk with Jake and the others just to throw the empty bottle at the train. 

If he told Dr. Sherman, then Dr. Sherman would absolutely tell his mom. Confidentiality or not, he thought that this doctor would count that as an acceptable reason to tell on him. 

“Not really. Sometimes I practice piano…”

“Piano?”

“I play the keyboard in jazz band.”

“The keyboard? Wow. That takes talent.”

Connor shook his head. “I think I’m the only kid dumb enough to tell the band teacher that I took piano lessons.”

“I want to ask you something… Do you really think you’re dumb?”

Connor sighed. “I mean I get okay grades…”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Dr. Sherman said, and Connor could tell he was trying to be nice. “I meant: do you think you are a smart person, in general?”

Connor shook his head. “No. If I was smart I wouldn’t be in trouble all the time.”

“Are you in trouble a lot?”

“Isn’t that why I’m here?” he said, staring at his shoes. “Because I’m always in trouble.”

“No. You’re here because your mom thought you might need someone to talk to.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t even want to talk to me. I think she’s scared of me.”

“Why do you say that?”

He shrugged. “I get mad sometimes.”

“What happens when you get mad?”

He picked a string on his ripped jeans. “I used to throw things a lot. I threw a printer at a teacher once.”

“Why?”

Connor sighed. “It’s stupid… it was my turn to be the line leader and she skipped me.”

“And that made you angry?”

He nodded. 

“What else happens when you’re angry?”

He sighed. “I hit my dad once.”

Dr. Sherman’s eyebrows traveled up again. 

“He told me to…” Connor mumbled. 

“He told you to hit him?”

Connor nodded. “I got beat up. At school. And he said I needed to know how to… stand up for myself,” He said, stupidly. “He showed me how to make a fist and told me to hit him and then I did.”

Dr. Sherman said nothing. 

“I didn’t want to hit him,” Connor went on, stupidly, just not able to keep from speaking. “But then he called me a pussy and I…” He stopped. Wished he hadn’t said it. “His lip started bleeding.”

“I see.” He wrote something else down. “Did hitting your dad make you feel better?”

Connor shook his head. 

“Then how did it make you feel?”

“Sick. Like, really sick. Like I might puke.”

They chatted a little more. Mostly get-to-know-you stuff, but then Dr. Sherman would throw in a question or two about how he was feeling, asking if he ever thought about hurting himself, things like that. 

Connor did his best to lie. 

At the end, Dr. Sherman walked him back to the waiting area. On the way, he chatted about the weather. Asked Connor if he was getting excited for summer vacation. 

Back in the waiting room, Connor saw him mom, still looking at that same copy of  _ Good Housekeeping. _ “I’m going to speak with your mom really quick, okay? I hope I’ll see you again soon.”

Connor doubted that enormously. Nobody ever wanted to see him. 

He watched Dr. Sherman hand his mom two little pieces of paper, and gestured to the first one a few times, smiling. 

His mom was smiling too. 

“See you later, bud,” Dr. Sherman said to Connor, walking back toward his office. 

Connor waved, then turned and headed toward his mom. 

“How was it?”

“Fine,” he said shortly. “What did he give you?”

“Oh, a few dates he has open to schedule you another appointment.”

Connor nodded. Didn’t fight back, just nodded. 

“He also wrote you a prescription…”

“For what?” Connor asked. 

“He said…It’s a medication. that it might help you to feel.. Better. Less sad.”

Connor rolled his eyes, but.

Well.

Was there something he could take that would help?

But then the happiness bubble deflated. 

Because his dad thought most medications were stupid and unnecessary. Connor remembered hearing a rant the whole car ride from his Aunt Christine’s house last year about how her “pills” made her “even more of a bitch” than usual. His dad commented that his aunt was seeing some new shrink and he was “really changing Chrissy’s outlook on life, which is a load of horseshit if I’ve ever heard one Cynthia.”

Connor looked at his mom, frowning. “Dad doesn’t know I’m here, does he?”

His mom tried to smile. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll talk to him.”

* * *

 

He knew he should have worried. 

He could hear them arguing from the minute his dad got home. 

“Please, Cynthia, we’re not letting him go around doped up out of his mind so he never gets sad.”

“The doctor he saw today said he’s showing signs of clinical depression, Larry, and everything I’ve read says that a combination of antidepressants and therapy could really help-”

“Jesus, Cynthia, he’s moody because he’s a teenager. He’s going to grow out of it.”

“I don’t think so, Larry, that doctor seemed really serious when he said he wanted to see Connor once a week-”

“-And how much is that going to cost me, Cyn? How much money are you going to start flushing over an imaginary problem?”

“I’m worried about him, Larry. If it’s this bad now, I’m scared of how bad it could get. What if he’s not being dramatic, huh? What if he means everything he’s been saying and we find him dead some day?”

“I’m not having this conversation.”

“Larry!”

“And if you want him medicated so badly, you might want to update your resume. Tell me, does pilates go under special skills these days?”

Connor clenched his fists tightly. 

He got up, feeling shaky all over. Mad. Really mad. 

He wanted to go yell at his dad for talking to his mom like that. He wanted to yell at his mom for ever marrying his dad. 

Connor walked out of his room and was surprised to find Zoe was standing outside of his door already, looking ready to cry. “Zo?”

She shoved a note into his hand. Connor opened it, heart in his throat. In some chicken scratch handwriting someone had written, “Zoey I really like you, do you wanna go out? If yes, come sit by me at lunch today. Brian.”

“He spelled your name wrong,” Connor said, rolling his eyes. 

“It wasn’t him,” Zoe said, and then she was crying. “It was that kid Josh whose jaw you broke. He… put that in my locker, and I went to sit by Brian at lunch…”

“Oh no,” Connor said. 

“They all  _ laughed  _ at me,” She said, crying harder now. “They said… They said I was stupid for thinking that Brian would go out with someone who grew up with a loser like you. And that kid with the glasses, Jared? He was there too. They said it was  _ his  _ idea.”

He felt like his heart was working too hard. 

It was the Janice Avery prank. 

From  _ Bridge to Terabithia _ . 

Connor remembered saying to Jared that he thought that was a messed up thing to do to someone. 

And since he was clearly pissed at Connor, but Connor wasn’t in school, Zoe was the next best way to get to him. 

Connor regretted ever letting Jared Kleinman read that fucking book. If he and Jared hadn’t worked together, then maybe he wouldn’t have thought it was funny to write a pretend love note to Connor’s sister. Maybe she wouldn’t be crying in his doorway right then. “Zoe, I’m so sorry.”

“You told Jared to do it, didn’t you?” She said, voice quiet. “You and him are friends and you… You told him that he should mess with me since you’re not allowed at school.”

“Zoe, no! I… how could I, I don’t even have a phone-?”

“I know you were in my room the other night. I know you borrowed my phone.”

Shit. 

“I didn’t do  _ that _ , Zoe, I wouldn’t-”

She shoved him, hard, so hard he had to take a step back not to fall. “I hate you!” She screamed. “You’re ruining my life! I wish you would just go away forever!”

Connor watched her race down the stairs, probably to their dad who would make her feel better. 

He wished he could go away forever too.

* * *

 

At breakfast that Thursday, once Zoe was at school and his dad was at work, his mom told him with a sad smile that she didn’t think they’d be going back to see Dr. Sherman again. 

Connor had figured. 

He nodded, it it wasn’t tearing him up. 

He spent all day in his bedroom, just reading. He finished  _ Stargirl  _ and  _ Love, Stargirl.  _ The librarian had recommended them when he was there last week, but Connor didn’t especially love them. He thought the girl was just sort of weird… like that girl in  _ (500) Days of Summer  _ or something. Someone who is just weird to be weird and there’s no point to it. 

He was getting started on  _ The Fault in Our Stars.  _ He had been putting it off because he knew it was sad. But so far he could see liking it. The girl in the book, even though she was, like, dying of cancer, really liked this one book. 

There was something in there about how pain demands to be felt. 

Connor thought he understood that. 

He pushed up his sleeve, looking at the marks he had left. 

Pain. 

Demanding to be felt. 

He read too much, so much that he started to get a headache. He stayed up too late, reading despite the headache, only really noticing the time when his mom knocked on the door, saying, quietly, “Connor, sweetheart, it’s almost midnight…”

“I didn’t tell Jared to do anything to Zoe,” he said suddenly. It had been gnawing at him for two days but he hadn’t been able to say it before. 

“I know you didn’t, sweetheart.” She came and sat down at the foot of his bed. “Honey, I… I need to ask you something.”

“Okay.”

“You know your dad doesn’t want you seeing Dr. Sherman anymore.”

“I know.”

“Is that….Are you okay? Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear, don’t say what you think your dad would want… I just. I need to know. Are you okay?”

Connor realized he had a choice here. His mom was looking at him, helplessly, her eyes watery. 

He could tell her everything. Just put it all out on the table. Every sick thought in his mind. He could roll up his sleeves and expose it. 

Or he could bury it. 

Pain demands to be felt. 

But it didn’t get a say in how you felt it. 

When you’re in pain you can either scream for help or swallow it and smile. 

Connor smiled.

“I’m fine mom. Really.”

The lie came so readily that Connor didn’t know how he had even entertained the idea of telling the truth. 

“Connor, please, you can talk to me… I want to make sure that if you need help that you get it.”

He shook his head. “What’s there to help? I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re sure?” She wiped her face, smiling at him, putting her hand on his shoulder. 

“Yeah mom. I’m great.”

She kissed his temple. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heck yes that's Evan's Dr. Sherman. I imagine he's probably got a reputation for treating kids with mood disorders, so. Anyway. I'm a little sad not to see him any more in this fic. I think he seemed to genuinely like Connor. 
> 
>  
> 
> Books mentioned:  
> Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - J.K. Rowling  
> Stargirl - Jerry Spinelli  
> Love, Stargirl - Jerry Spinelli  
> The Fault in Our Stars - John Green


	8. Nothing More Than Apathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why are you being nice to me?”
> 
> Zoe sighed. “I don’t…” she pushed some dirt around with her shoe. “I don’t know. I just… feel bad.”
> 
> “Why?”
> 
> “Because you….” She stopped, shrugging. “I just do okay?”
> 
> “Fine.”

“I’m not talking about this again, Larry!”

“I just want you to consider it!”

Friday night. 

His parents were fighting. 

Again. 

What a surprising turn of events.

Connor thought that this time his dad might have been drunk. He’d come home late, like 11:30 late, and started in on his mom right away. 

About his favorite subject: what the fuck was wrong with Connor. 

He didn’t even remember anymore if they had always fought like this. 

Part of him just wanted to go hide in Zoe’s room, ask her to blast music, ask her to dance it out with him, ask her to save him from all of the noise in his head telling him that his dad was right about him, about everything. 

But he couldn’t seem to make his hand move to knock so he stood outside of her door for the longest time before sighing and walking back to his own. 

“So you’re willing to pay for boot camp but not therapy?”

“Boot camp is about the only option we have!”

“Oh bullshit, Larry! You won’t let me try anything else first!”

“If you want to find a way to pay for it, Cyn, then be my fucking guest!”

“-don’t care if that program is supposed to straighten kids like him out! It’s barbaric and I refuse to send him there!”

“I don’t want to talk about whether or not he’s straight again, Cynthia, that is beside the fucking point-”

“I wasn’t even talking about  _ that _ , Larry, Jesus-”

“You know I can hear you, right?!” Connor shouted from the top of the stairs. 

But the yelling didn’t stop. 

He walked back to his room, stalked back really, and slammed the door as hard as he could manage. Then opened it again and slammed it again. Just kept slamming it until the voices downstairs finally shut up. 

He was breathing heavily by that point and just. 

Collapsed onto his bed, feeling just utterly and completely drained. 

Should have known better. 

Within seconds his door was flying open again, his dad followed by his mother, his dad red faced and screaming, his mom in tears telling him to stop yelling like that, grabbing at his dad’s arms desperately as he gestured wildly, and before long Zoe’s voice joined the cacophony, screaming at all of them to just shut up already. 

Connor stared, eyes unmoving. He caught a look at his face in the mirror in the brief second before his dad blocked his view - his face was blank. Expressionless. Just. Nothing. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Connor looked. 

“What do you have to say for yourself?” His dad was definitely drunk; Connor could smell whiskey on his breath. 

Connor merely blinked. 

He was pretty sure his dad was going to hit him. 

He was pretty sure he wanted his dad to hit him. 

“Huh? What do you have to say since you’re so desperate for attention?”

“Fuck you,” Connor said. 

“Watch your mouth!”

“Watch yours,” Connor said, and his voice had nothing behind it. Just blank, dead, flat lined. “Don’t talk to mom like that.”

It all happened in slow motion. His dad slapped him, hard, hard enough that Connor’s head snapped back. Connor watched his mom’s face, on Zoe’s face. They both looked horrified. 

Connor hardly felt it. 

His dad seemed to come back to himself then, taking a step back, mouth open, looking just as scared as his mom and Zoe. 

His dad took a long look at him and stormed out. 

“Larry!” His mom was screaming, running after him, running down the stairs. Her voice 

sounded raw, ragged.  “Larry I swear to God if you get in that car-” Connor heard the front door slam, a car peel out of the driveway, and his mom screaming, “I WANT A FUCKING DIVORCE!” 

Zoe stared at Connor, speechless. 

His dad had hit him once before, after her threw something at Zoe when he was ten. It wasn’t like his dad really hit him often. It wasn’t like he didn’t totally deserve it. He’d been a brat on purpose, yelling and slamming his door and taunting his dad. He deserved it. He was fine. He didn’t feel it. 

Zoe was crying. “Why are you like this?” She shouted it at him. 

And Connor. 

Sighed. 

Shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You’re ruining my life. You’re ruining this family.”

Connor shrugged, trying to appear at least a little apologetic. He doubted that he managed it because Zoe took off, slamming her own door.

* * *

 

Connor spent the weekend sitting on the sofa, remote far out of reach, watching whatever his mom put on while she did housework. Sometimes he helped, with things like folding the laundry. Usually he didn’t, when his mom did things like sorting through clothes to donate to goodwill. When that happened Connor mostly just watched reruns of  _ Law and Order: SVU _ . It was mind numbing, but his dad had taken all of Connor’s books back to the library, apparently deciding that was the best way to actually ground him. He had protested, yelled, shouted, swore, carried on and on about how his dad was the only person in the world who would be pissed off that his kid read so much. 

But Larry still took all of the books back to the library.

He also hadn’t apologized for slapping Connor. So at least he was consistent. 

Fucking Larry hadn’t taken away the books on Connor’s bookshelf, but he was laying around obviously instead of rereading an old favorite as a sort of protest. Making sure everyone could see how unfair he thought that was.  

Because it was unfair. 

The only thing, literally, the only thing he liked was reading. 

Not being able to do that sort of made him have this sort of fuzzy headache. It was like his boredom had gotten so bad it had manifested physical symptoms. His brain felt like TV static, all white noise but not in a good way. In a very frustrating way. It was sort of like when you were hungry but nothing you could eat sounded good. He was bored, he needed something to do to keep his brain occupied, but nothing appealed to him. At all. A total lack of appetite. 

Nothing helped. Sleeping hadn’t, walking around hadn’t, helping his mom hadn’t. 

He didn’t let himself consider getting the pocket knife out of his closet because he knew he was so bored that he’d probably just bleed to death trying to solve that problem, and honestly if he didn’t manage to actually bleed to death he’d have to deal with his mom crying and that thought just made the static in his head louder, the boredom in his brain settling behind his eyes and in his stomach. 

So he gave up any sort of trying and just watched the damn television. 

Connor was in the middle of hour five of an  _ SVU _ marathon, trying to get wrapped up in an Olivia storyline about going undercover for the FBI.

“You’ve just been watching TV all day?” Zoe said, walking into the room not long after his mom walked out to start dinner. 

“Yep,” Connor said, popping the “p” sarcastically. 

“I was going to go for a bike ride after dinner,” She said. “Want to come?”

“I’m grounded,” Connor said dully. 

“I’ll ask mom.”

Connor didn’t move his head as Zoe flounced off. He was suspicious that Zoe was being nice. Just Wednesday night she had said she wished he would disappear forever, and now she wanted to hang out? She must have like secretly smashed his laptop or something. There was no reason she wanted to hang out. 

He didn’t move from the couch until he was called for dinner. 

Connor moved slowly toward the kitchen. 

He wasn’t even sure what the hell he was doing anymore.

* * *

 

“I think you’re getting too tall for your bike,” Zoe observed as they pedaled toward the playground not far from their house. 

Connor didn’t disagree. His knees almost touched the handlebars now. 

He wasn’t bothering to ask why Zoe suddenly wanted to hang out. He had already decided that as a part of Shutting Up Forever he wasn’t going to bother asking why anybody did anything anymore. He’d just assume they were out to be assholes and go from there. 

But the Asshole Rule didn’t apply to his sister. 

She might hate him, but he couldn’t hate her. Which was probably stupid. And probably some crap that his dad had put into his head about being a boy and being older and how that meant he was supposed to take care of her or something.  

But he couldn’t hate Zoe. Even when he was sure she deserved it. 

They got to the park and Zoe dropped her bike, bolting for the swings. Connor followed, much slower, feeling like the whole ground was made of mud and his pockets were full of rocks. 

She was already swinging by the time he sat on the next swing over. The ones at the park were the best because they went higher than the ones in the backyard. You could go so high you’d start to worry that you’d end up upside down. 

Connor didn’t feel much like swinging. 

Frankly, he didn’t feel much at all. 

Which was honestly kind of a relief. After weeks and weeks and weeks of anger and hurt and scaring himself, he felt. 

Empty. 

It was nice, almost. 

He was just so fucking exhausted. Too tired to even bother hating himself. He just. Didn’t care. 

“Connor?”

“Huh?”

“Do you think mom and dad are really going to break up?” Zoe dragged her feet then, slowing her swing to a sudden stop. 

He shrugged. 

“I…” She stopped. “Would we ever see each other again if they did?”

Connor looked blankly at her. “What?”

“If I lived with dad and you lived with mom, would we ever see each other again?”

Connor shrugged. “Probably, I guess. Like at Christmas and stuff.” He didn’t really know what happened when parents broke up and the kids chose to live apart. “I don’t think it’s actually like The Parent Trap. Besides…. We’re not twins.”

“We used to be.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “We’re not actually twins, Zo. We never were. That was just Grandma making a joke about how close in age we are.” His grandma had always called them Irish Twins. Connor knew that his great-grandma and great-grandpa on his dad’s side were, like,  _ from _ Ireland, but he didn’t know what that meant to be Irish twins until he googled it one day. Apparently it was kind of an offensive term for kids super close in age. 

“But we used to pretend.”

“Yeah, when you weren’t so much shorter than me,” Connor said. 

Zoe bit her lip. 

“I don’t want to only see you at Christmas,” She said softly. 

Connor rolled his eyes. “Not what you said yesterday.”

Zoe bit her lip harder. “I…”

“Why would you want to live with dad?”   


She shrugged. “Mom hates me.”

“She does not.”

“She does. She never pays any attention to me and she’s always telling me to be nicer to you. Plus she told me that playing the guitar was for boys. She hates me.”

Connor blinked. “Dad hates me.”

Zoe didn’t protest that. 

“I wish I knew why…” Connor said.

Zoe sighed. “I think he just wishes you were, like… normal or whatever.”

Connor shrugged. “I don’t know what that even means.”

“I’m sorry I yelled at you about Brian being mean to me,” Zoe said. “I know it wasn’t your fault.”

Connor stared at her. “Why are you being nice to me?”

Zoe sighed. “I don’t…” she pushed some dirt around with her shoe. “I don’t know. I just… feel bad.”

“Why?”

“Because you….” She stopped, shrugging. “I just do okay?”

“Fine.”

They rode their bikes back home before it got dark. Connor noticed his mom smiling when they came back, while his dad scowled. 

If his parents split, did he want to try to convince Zoe to stay with Connor and his mom?

When Connor was little, like so little, he was very concerned about dying in strange accidents. Like quicksand or catching on fire or falling off of a ship or something. He didn’t worry about those things much anymore. 

But then he remembered that those idiotic fears didn’t just stand on their own. 

It wasn’t just what if he fell into quicksand, it was, what if he and Zoe both fell into quicksand and they only had seconds before being pulled under. Who would his parents save? 

It was pretty fucked up that they both knew which parents would save which kid. 

Like he knew, gun to their heads, which kid they prefered. Zoe knew it too. Connor didn’t know anything about being a parent but he imagined that you probably weren’t supposed to have an obvious favorite. 

Then again, Connor wasn’t sure if he was actually his mom’s favorite or just the default option. She’d gotten stuck with him first and he was the problem child and so she stuck to him out of guilt or something. 

He waited for that thought to drag him under, drown him in darkness and sadness and that kind of hollow pit in the stomach that comes along with painful truths. 

Nothing. 

Just. 

He didn’t feel anything. 

Not like when he was crazy last week and thought things were a movie. 

This was different. This was like when your foot falls asleep and it’s so asleep that you don’t even feel pins and needles anymore. Like your lip at the dentist after a shot of novocaine. He knew what it should feel like, but he didn’t feel it. 

He almost smiled as he and Zoe rode their bikes up the driveway. 

He didn’t care. 

It was sort of nice to not care. 

Like, liberating. 

* * *

Connor spent Sunday on the couch again. Zoe spent most of the day watching old episodes of  _ Glee _ . Connor just sat there with her, through an entire season of thirty year olds pretending to be high school students singing strange covers of old songs. 

Connor thought it might be a decent show to watch while smoking pot. 

He wondered if he could ask Jake where to get some the next time he had an allowance. He wasn’t certain, but Connor thought he liked being high. 

He wanted to try it again. 

He knew this made him, like, a bad kid. Worse than usual. Like if his mom found out she would absolutely lose her mind. 

But since Connor didn’t care… about stuff in general right now… he figured it was a good time to decide to be a stoner or whatever. 

* * *

Monday morning. 

First day back. 

His dad was a dick at breakfast, making Connor go upstairs and change twice. The sort of thing you saw on TV where dads thought their daughters were wearing clothes that were too sexy or something. Only it was Connor, and Larry thought his clothes were. 

He didn’t know. 

Unacceptable. 

Shitty. 

He lost it over the jeans Connor was wearing, the black ones with the hole in the knee. The only piece of clothing he owned that he genuinely liked. 

Larry was going on and on about how he didn’t want Connor going around dressed like that. 

Connor thought that his dad honestly believed that the worst thing that someone could think about Connor was that he was poor or gay. 

He didn’t know what it even meant to worry about being gay, really. 

But his brain was so messed up that he probably was. Just add that right to the pile of things wrong with him. 

He wished he could get transplanted into another family. He knew from books and movies and stuff that a lot of kids wished to discover that their parents weren’t really their parents when they were little, that they were actually a princess or prince and that one day their real family would appear to save them. 

Connor had never felt that way. 

At least not until he was ten or eleven and suddenly his dad was, like, mad at him for quitting little league and stuff. Suddenly it was like a switch flipped in his dad’s head and he realized that the things Connor did weren’t normal or whatever. Reading instead of roughhousing and doing sports suddenly became a sign that he was gay as the day is long. Gone were the days when his dad thought that reading so much made him smart. Now in Larry’s eyes, Connor was just. Bad. Wrong. Messed up. And he hadn’t done anything at all to change what he did. 

Connor still sometimes felt like he had whiplash from that change. 

If he felt much of anything at all. 

First day back and he was wearing a pair of old jeans, without holes. But they were too short on him. Had he grown? His ankles weren’t really covered in the jeans. His mom made a comment about needing to take him out for new clothes, smoothing out the sleeves of his flannel shirt, because it was cold out again. She rubbed Connor’s shoulder to pick off a fuzz, saying he was outgrowing everything and when had that even happened? When could he have possibly found time to grow when his head was so full of garbage?

First day back, and Connor didn’t give a shit. 

His parents were already slated to have a meeting with the principal on Wednesday to discuss something or other. Behavioral concerns. Connor wasn’t listening. 

Because he didn’t care about things anymore, apparently. 

He just. 

Nothing got to him. 

The black rain cloud that had been his life hadn’t dissipated, but instead it was like everything was consistently overcast and gray. 

And nothing about that especially bothered him, honestly. 

He read on the bus, because fuck it. 

He didn’t care if the other kids made fun of him. 

He didn’t care that Jared glared at him when he walked past his seat. Didn’t care that Brian and his hench-morons tried to call insults at him from the back of the bus. Connor just put headphones on and pulled out a book. 

He was reading  _ The Catcher in the Rye.  _ He’d found it in a box of his mom’s old books that she was going through, saying that she planned to donate it. She let him take it despite his dad’s ban on reading. 

And it was okay because he had to read something. 

He had thought about picking this book up before, but never committed. 

Maybe because he had read somewhere that a few crazy people had liked it and Connor maybe thought his life might be a little simpler if people just knew he was crazy. 

Connor thought Holden was kind of whiny. 

He was also getting pretty damn sick of the word “phony.” 

And the thing with the prostitute was weird. Connor didn’t know a whole lot about sex or whatever, but it seems kind of idiotic to him that you’d pay a prostitute to just talk to you. 

Then again, Connor thought, maybe if he didn’t keep getting his allowance taken away he could like pay someone to be his friend or something. 

He kind of got how Holden felt about his sister, though. He could sort of relate to that. Sometimes Connor wished that Zoe had stayed younger. Like he could have kept growing but she had stayed ten years old forever. Kids in books and on TV and stuff always had little siblings who looked up to them which made things easier for them because at least one person still gave a shit about them. 

But. 

Zoe was only a year younger than Connor. 

Not even. Like eleven months and two weeks younger. 

They were the same age for two weeks every year. Which had seemed cool when Connor was like, six, but now it just kind of sucked. Now he felt like there was going to be a point when Zoe would pass him somehow. Like he would just quit, give up at thirteen and she’d carry on. 

But Connor didn’t even know how to quit at this point. 

He didn’t care. 

Whatever. 

* * *

Mr. Weston was not in his English class.

Connor thought that was odd. Of all of the teachers, Mr. Weston was the least likely to call in a sub a couple of weeks before the end of the year. 

Instead there was an older woman whose lips looked permanently pursed with long gray hair. When Connor slid into his seat, head down, he was surprised to discover the sub walked right up to his desk. 

“Are you Connor?”

He looked up. “Um. Yeah.”

The teacher crossed her arms. “I expect that there won’t be any more issues from you.”

Connor must have looked confused because she frowned. 

“I don’t want any disruptions from you.”

He glared. But said nothing. 

He wanted to ask where Mr. Weston was. He wanted to tell this teacher to fuck off and flip his desk. 

But he didn’t care, so he just put his head down. 

 

After class he heard Jared sneer something like, “Sorry your boyfriend got fired, Connor. Maybe he’ll send you letters from his jail cell!”

And Connor whipped around, throwing an arm across Jared’s chest and slamming him against the wall of lockers. “Talk to me again, and I’ll dislocate your jaw.”

Jared made a choking sound and Connor realized he actually his arm across the smaller boy’s neck. 

He backed off fast, heading to the lunchroom, wishing that a teacher had been around to see. He could have used another week off of school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Over My Head (Cable Car)" by The Fray. 
> 
> Connor reads The Catcher in the Rye this chapter. He doesn't love it, similar to my own feelings as a 13 year old.


	9. Now I'm Just Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are well intentioned adults and ill intentioned teenagers. Zoe gets scared.

He was trying to just ignore everyone.

It wasn’t exactly working, but it wasn’t exactly not working either.

Zoe was still being nice.

Jared was still ignoring him. Evan looked at him sometimes, but almost always ducked his head after, like he was too scared to actually say anything.

Mr. Weston hadn’t come back. Connor was beginning to suspect he had actually quit. Or been fired.

Brian and his idiots had mostly backed off after pulling the shit with the note on Zoe. Apparently, while the teachers hadn’t noticed Connor nearly choking Jared out in the halls, the other kids had. Suddenly, people seemed to realize that despite being one of the shortest guys in the class, Connor was.

Scary.

Violent.

Not to be messed with.

He wasn’t really going to try to convince people otherwise. It wasn’t like it would earn him any friends.

So people left him alone.

The only people that Connor had yet to receive a verdict from were Jake, Sarah, and Aidan. He’d been grounded and suspended so he hadn’t seen them after school. Connor kind of hoped that this would be another time where Jake thought something idiot thing that he had done was cool, like hurling a printer at Mrs. G.

But he had no way of knowing.

* * *

Before bed on Wednesday, Connor locked himself in the bathroom. He was in there under the pretense of brushing his teeth, but honestly he was avoiding his dad like he had been all week.

His parents still weren’t talking; Connor had realized that his dad was sleeping in the guest room this morning when he walked in on his dad shaving in the upstairs bathroom.

Connor distantly thought that someday he’d need to learn how to do that.

He wasn’t sure he could stomach the thought of Fucking Larry showing him how to put a razor to his throat and not die.

He also wasn’t sure he wanted to be alive long enough that shaving became a necessity. No. He was sure that he _didn’t_ want to be alive by then.

Nightmare.

So Wednesday night, Connor heard his dad get home at 9:30 and hid himself in the bathroom, locking the door. He was avoiding his dad at all costs. He didn’t want to give his dad a chance to hit him again. In part because Connor was sure that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from hitting back this time. Not that he didn’t think that his dad couldn’t kick his ass. The opposite actually; if Connor hit Larry back, then Larry might use it as an opportunity to beat Connor senseless. Which would make his mom cry, it would make Zoe scream, and then the neighbors would notice and call CPS and everything would be so embarrassing for the rest of his life so he’d have to find a way to kill himself which would break his mom and ruin things for Zoe even more.

Connor caught sight of himself in the mirror. Thankfully, his hair was starting to grow back. By the end of the summer he might look like himself again.

Connor figured, since he was hiding out in the bathroom, he might as well actually brush his teeth.

He wet his toothbrush, squeezed a small amount of toothpaste onto the brush, and started to scrub his teeth. He’d read somewhere recently that you were actually meant to brush in circles, not by running the brush back and forth over your teeth. So he tried it, moving the brush in deliberate circles over his front teeth, then the sides of his teeth, then the bottom, then the top.

When he spit toothpaste into the sink, there was blood in it again, turning the white foam pink.

Connor blinked a few times.

He knew that blood probably meant he was brushing too hard.

But his mouth still felt disgusting. So he rinsed off the brush and kept at it. He brushed harder, spitting more blood. Brushed until the bristles of his toothbrush squeaked against his teeth, until the teeth gleamed white behind the little tributaries of red that collected on his lower lip. He brushed, focusing on the backs of his front teeth, and the backs of his back teeth. He rinsed out his mouth and then decided to floss. He flossed each tooth twice, his gums bleeding freely now as he decided he definitely ought to be flossing more. He’d stopped caring so much after his braces had come off. Definitely needed to try harder to floss.

After he finished flossing, he brushed again. Harder. He brushed and brushed and brushed, until the toothbrush came away pink and all the bristles flattened, he brushed until his gums throbbed and his jaw ached from being open so long, until his elbows protested the motion.

Finally satisfied that his mouth was clean, Connor rinsed with mouthwash that burned.

He stared at his face in the mirror.

Greasy. Pale, spotted.

He decided to wash his face too.

He stole some of the soap that Zoe had put in the medicine cabinet, the one that smelled sort of sweet. He read the back of the bottle, and poured out the recommended amount into his hands. He rubbed it on his face. It tingled a little, and the little scrubby particles felt good against his face, like they might peel back a layer of himself that he didn’t like.

He kept scrubbing at his face until the soap was nearly dry, then wet his hands and started again. He washed and washed and washed until his face started to burn and then he rinsed rinsed rinsedrinsedrinsed, washing away all of the soap, all of burn, all of his face, leaving behind nothing but a soaked mirror and a pair of large, scared eyes staring into the watery reflection.

What the fuck was the matter with him?

Why had he done this? What was he even doing? He was losing it, he was lost already, he was just finding newer, weirder ways to hurt himself.  
Connor used a small hand towel his mom had put out in the bathroom to wipe up the water on the mirror and counter.

Satisfied that his face and mouth were as good as they were going to get, he stepped out of the bathroom to head to his room.

“What were you doing in there?” Zoe asked him, appearing in her doorway, making him jump.

“Brushing my teeth,” Connor muttered.

“You were in there for like an hour.”

“I flossed,” he said dully, bidding her goodnight and heading into his bedroom.

He climbed into bed, still dressed in that day’s clothes.

He.

He needed something.

Just something, anything, to change. To get better. He was starting to crack up, like properly lose it. Lose track of time. Lose track of himself, of what was normal anymore.

He just had no idea what would even make anything better.

Nothing seemed to work. He couldn’t read, couldn’t think, couldn’t keep his eyes open at school or keep them closed at home when he was meant to be sleeping. He’d already been shouted at by the new English teacher for falling asleep during silent reading that day.

He was losing it. He’d lost it.

Connor wished he was still a little kid. If he were little, he’d just to cry to his mom, throw himself into her lap and sob until she figured out how to fix him.

He couldn’t do that now.

He couldn’t do anything now. He just kept waiting for an idea to come to him, one that he could pull off, one that he could use to take himself out of this situation.

But nothing came to him.

* * *

Thursday, after school, while Zoe went to her guitar lesson, Connor got dragged with his mom to the grocery store. He didn’t want to go with her, but since he was grounded until his dad finally died, he didn’t have a lot of options. So he pushed the cart around behind his mom, sighing a lot, wishing he could have just stayed in the car reading.

His mom was waiting at the deli for something so she shooed him off to the dairy section to pick up milk. As he was walking, Connor thought he saw, of all people, Mr. Weston, standing in the middle of the yogurt aisle.

….Holding hands with another guy.

Connor immediately dove into the next aisle, hoping he hadn’t been spotted. Through the shelves of dairy, Connor could make out their conversation over the hum of the refrigerators.

“Still think it’s absolutely ridiculous,” The guy holding Mr. Weston’s hand said.

Mr. Weston sighed. “I don’t really have a leg to stand on. I told them I wasn’t sure I could renew my contract in good faith… and they told me not to bother returning for the rest of the year. And now I have to go crawling back to my parents, begging my mom to help me find something in her district...”

“Lucky thing, having a superintendent as your mom.”

“More like, lucky that my old school didn’t actually open an investigation into me for inappropriate behavior toward a student…”

“Obviously that was bullshit, John. They had to know you’d never hurt a kid.”

“I mean I _was_ a diversity hire…”

“Please, you’re still white.” The guy laughed. Connor could make out a discontented sound from Mr. Weston. “They should still at least consider the feedback you gave on the progress reports,” the guy said.

Mr. Weston sighed again.. “I mean obviously they are of the opinion that they’ve got a problem kid on their hands, not someone who clearly needs help. Like I saw the cuts on his arms that week… I should have emailed his parents when I had the chance...”

Connor crept around the wall of cheese, spying. Mr. Weston had let go of the guy’s hand, starting pushing their cart forward, sticking a big tub of plain Greek yogurt into the cart. Connor followed, trying to stay far enough back that he wouldn’t attract attention but close enough that he could still hear them.

Mr. Weston had seen. Mr. Weston was talking to this guy he was holding hands with about him.

That… Connor didn’t know if that made him angry or happy or relieved or what.

Someone had noticed.

But that also meant that other people might have noticed.

Connor didn’t know what he wanted.

He just knew he didn’t want his old teacher to see him spying at the grocery store.

Connor stopped a few times to stare into the freezer cases when he thought they might be looking back at him. He knew a kid alone at the grocery store might attract looks, so he tried to keep himself looking busy and not making trouble so that nobody would look at him.

Connor actually had to stop once they reached the milk refrigerator, and he kept his eyes trained away from Mr. Weston and his (partner? boyfriend? husband?) whatever, just in case they had looked back.

“Connor?”

Damn it.

He pulled out a bottle of milk and put it into the cart and tried to look surprised. “Mr. Weston?”

“Aren’t you a little young to be shopping on your own?” Asked Mr. Weston’s… guy. Man. Hand holder. Whatever. Whoever he was.

“My mom was getting something from the deli,” Connor mumbled. “I’m getting milk.” He pointed, lamely, to the milk he had just put into the cart.

Mr. Weston shot the guy he was with a look. “Connor, I’ve been thinking about you all week. How are things at school? You’re back in classes now, right?”

Connor nodded. “Yeah. Things are… okay I guess. The substitute in your class is… sort of strict.”

Connor watched recognition dawn on the other man’s face, and Connor felt his own heat up. Mr. Weston had clearly been talking about Connor to this guy. Enough that a vague reference to Connor’s suspension made the guy know exactly who he was. It was bad enough everyone at school knew that Connor was an out and out freak, but now he was a freak in the eyes of a complete stranger.

“Are you really not coming back?” Connor asked sadly, his eyes trained on his shoes. He tried to sound indifferent, like he didn’t really care, but it was obvious how much he did...

“I… I’m not. I’m so sorry.”

“Is it… it’s not because of the stuff those kids wrote in that note, right?” Connor dared to look up then.

Mr. Weston frowned. “No. Not exactly. I… I wasn’t happy with the way the administration handled that whole situation.”

Connor swallowed hard. “I got you fired, didn’t I?”

Mr. Weston shook his head. “No Connor. No, please don’t think that. That isn’t what happened… it was. The situation was complicated, but it absolutely wasn’t your fault.”

Connor nodded, stupidly, wishing he’d never spotted them here.

“I… Connor. You said your mom was here?”

He nodded again, hating himself for opening his stupid mouth.

Mr. Weston traded a glance with his… person. “Would you mind introducing me?”

“Why?” Connor said, suspiciously, his heart speeding up, worried. He was going to tell her. _He was going to tell her_.

Connor weighed the pros and cons.

Pros: Connor would probably be sent back to therapy immediately, and his mom would probably cry a lot.

Cons: Connor would probably be sent back to therapy immediately, which would piss off his dad.

“I…um…”

“Look, Connor…” Mr. Weston was biting his lip. “I... “ He glanced back at his guy. “You’re a good kid. I know you’ve been working really hard to keep out of trouble, and I know that this wasn’t your fault. I just… I’m concerned about you.”

“Why?”

Mr. Weston frowned. “I can just… I can tell you’ve been having a hard time.”

Connor must have looked confused, and Mr. Weston… pushed up his sleeve, stepping closer to talk to him, but Connor didn’t hear a word he said. There, on his wrist, was a pink, vertical scar that ran from the top of his wrist to the middle of his arm. He suspected that Mr. Weston wasn’t trying to show the scar off but he also wasn’t trying to hide it. He looked so worried, like Connor’s mom had looked after his dad said that he couldn’t see Dr. Sherman anymore. “I. I was a lot like you when I was younger. I think I… I know what you’re going through. What… you’ve been doing to cope, and… And I’m worried about you.”

Connor thought he might puke.

Like literally get sick right there in the grocery store.

“I… You can’t talk to my mom.”

Mr. Weston frowned. His partner frowned. “Why not? You’re not going to get into trouble, Connor. This isn’t something you did wrong...”

“I will,” he said, pleading. “I’ll get into so much trouble… If you tell her, then she’ll tell my dad… he’s… He’s gonna leave. He’s been saying so for a while…if I can’t get it together, he’ll leave us and-and if he leaves…” If their dad left, he’d take Zoe. If their dad left, Connor’s mom would need to get a job and he’d never get to see her. If their dad left, Zoe would hate him for breaking up the family, his mom would hate him for taking away her husband, his dad would hate him because he already hated Connor but this could be a concrete reason.

Mr. Weston looked, if possible, more worried. “Connor, I just want make sure you get the help you need…”

“I don’t need anything,” Connor said, his heart racing. “I’m fine. I don’t need any help. Really, I… I’m fine.”

“Connor, please listen to me,” Mr. Weston said, his voice lower. “I get it. I understand… I’ve been there too.”

“You don’t. You don’t get it,” Connor said, shaking his head.

Mr. Weston dropped to one knee in front of Connor, so they were eye to eye because Mr. Weston was so tall and Connor was so short, and Mr. Weston put his arms on Connor’s slumped shoulders. “Connor I know. Really, I do. I was very mixed up when I was in middle school too. I…” He glanced nervously at the guy he was with, who was frowning, his eyes darting around. “That’s… That’s Gabe. He’s my boyfriend. And when I was your age… Connor, believe me when I say that I get it… I understand where you’re at. So please. Please let me talk to your parents. I won’t say anything you don’t want me to…”

“I can’t.”

“Connor….”

“Please.”

Mr. Weston looked helplessly back at his boyfriend Gabe. Then said. “Okay, fine…” He went into his pocket, and pulled out a scrap of paper, a shopping list, and a pen. He scribbled something on the back of this. “I understand if you don’t want me to talk to your parents… but please, please talk to me if you need something. Anything.” He handed the list over to Connor. It had his phone number on the back. “Anything, really. I want you to know you aren’t alone, okay?”

But he was alone.

He was.

He took the number with numb fingers.

“That’s my cell. Call, text, whatever you need.”

He knew he would never use it.

“Are you sure I can’t just talk quickly to your mom? I have a number for a psychologist in town… I…”

But Connor had pulled out of Mr. Weston’s grasp before he finished speaking, grabbed the cart he had been pushing, and hurried away away, turning down an aisle of breakfast cereal, his heart beating too fast in his chest, his breathing uneven.

Mr. Weston had clocked him from a mile away. He knew exactly what was going on. He’d seen through every single thing that Connor had tried to do to hide his disaster, the mess he was, the broken pieces he was barely holding together.

But he couldn’t let Mr. Weston help because if he got too close to Connor’s mom then she’d know, immediately, that Connor was just like Mr. Weston. Broken and wrong and bad and messed up through and through.

She’d know.

About _everything_.

And somehow it wasn’t even how much she would cry about the cuts and the bruises and the other ways he had hurt himself… it was the other stuff too, the stuff he tried to shut his eyes to…

Connor knew he wasn’t into girls.

He knew that if he was into anyone at all, it was boys.

But he also knew he was disgusting and wrong and ugly and broken and even if his dad didn’t murder him when he found out, Connor wasn’t ever going to find somebody who could ever like him back.

Mr. Weston was lucky.

Mr. Weston had no idea. He’d gotten out, gotten better, gotten a boyfriend or whatever.

There was no hope for anything like that for Connor. He knew that. He’d always known that. It wasn’t news, it wasn’t a secret.

But for some reason that fact sort of crashed into him then, standing in the cereal aisle of the grocery chain, and Connor just. He couldn’t.

He couldn’t just stand there and not freak out.

His face burned, his chest hurt, he just wanted to die.

In that instant he knew for certain that things might get better for people like him, but they would never ever get better for him.

He was going to be alone forever.

Connor ditched the cart and rushed to the bathroom, locking himself in a foul smelling stall stuffing the collar of his shirt into his mouth to muffle the sound of his wheezing gasps. He hit his head against the stall door once it was locked, smacking the back of his head in a repetitive rhythm, not stopping until he couldn’t feel it anymore, until all he felt was a dull ache and nothing else.

He felt his phone buzz after a minute. A text, from his mom, “Where did you go? I asked you to meet me by the frozen food.”

He stared at the text as it swam before his face.

He stared down at his shoes. They’d gotten a little too tight in the toes. His ankles poked out from the hem of his jeans, too short on him now.

He kept growing.

His body kept growing but he knew he’d never grow out of this. Some things were permanent, and how broken he was was going to stick.

Connor was struck with the thought that somehow things would only get worse for him as he got bigger. Nightmare. Utter nightmare.

Another text from his mom followed. “Connor I’m getting worried.”

He knew he needed to go then, but his giant canoe feet with bony ankles wouldn’t move.

He pulled the collar of his t-shirt out of his mouth, realizing how close to gagging on it he was. Took a few shallow breaths, not daring to breathe through his nose because the bathroom smelled like piss and shit and generic toilet bowl cleaner and flowery air freshener which didn’t freshen the air at all.  He stepped out of the stall, and splashed cold water on his face. He hurried back to the cart, rushing to the frozen food section, grateful to see that Mr. Weston and his boyfriend or whatever were nowhere in sight when he found his mom.

“There you are! You scared me.”

“Sorry… I went to the bathroom,” He mumbled.

His mom shook her head. “We should go, we’ve still got to pick up your sister.”

* * *

Zoe chatted nonstop after her guitar lessons. Connor was a little bit relieved that she was back to talking to him now. Things were starting to get too quiet in his head. Even if she still hated him, at least it wasn’t too quiet.

“That sounds great honey,” their mom said from the driver’s seat. “Maybe we’ll have to have a little concert when we all get home. You can play us some of the stuff you’re working on.”

Zoe smiled. She turned around from the front seat, looking at Connor. “I have a new song I wanna learn…”

“Cool.”

“It has a piano part…”

Connor looked at her, confused.

“Could you… maybe take a look at the sheet music?”

Connor nodded uncertainly. She wanted them to play together? This was beyond Zoe’s regular levels of nice. She must really want to learn the song for some reason.

He looked the sheet music over that night, before his dad got home, sitting at the keyboard in his bedroom, volume low, tinkering with the notes, figuring out the rhythm a little. It wasn’t especially difficult, some pop song by a band that Connor didn’t know… but the melody was nice. And a little complex. He’d need to really practice to get this one right.

Sometimes he’d catch a note or two coming from Zoe’s room. She was practicing too. Connor debated knocking on her door, asking her to join him, seeing if they could work out the song together…

But then he worried she’d laugh.

He knew she was better at reading music than he was. She picked up songs faster, because she was so good at sight reading songs, whereas he needed a little bit more practice until he got it right. He was shit at sight reading, but good at playing by ear. If he weren’t so nervous he’d ask her to play him the song so he could pick out the piano parts, but he was nervous and he thought too hard about it and then his hands started to shake and it took him a while to stop letting his brain wander back to his conversation with Mr. Weston.

So he didn’t knock on Zoe’s door. Instead he just kept playing the trickiest parts, over and over, until he got it right. It took time. Hours. He wolfed down his dinner super fast so that he could get back at it. He managed to make his way through the whole song three times without stopping by the time he he heard the front door open, signaling that his dad was home, and also that Connor was finished practicing for the night. He wished his dad wasn’t so critical of his playing, or else Connor might have stayed up into the early hours of the morning practicing until it was perfect. He knew it was stupid, trying so hard to please his sister who hated him, but when was the last time they actually managed to do anything together? He wanted to get at least this right.

He remembered reading about people, mostly pianists, who had been in prisons, like during World War II and the Holocaust and stuff, who used to keep their technique sharp by imagining a piano and practicing using their fingers while they did other things, like hard labor or pretending to sleep in the barracks. Connor didn’t think his imagination was quite that good, but he went over the notes in his head again anyway, practicing moving his fingers in the air until his wrists began to ache.

He wondered if he could practice being normal this way too. If he could imagine himself into getting better, being better, being less weird and gay and whatever else was wrong with him.

Connor laid back on his bed.

He closed his eyes.

He tried to conjure up a girl in his mind. Not just any girl. A girl he could like. Like really like. Like he was supposed to. A girl he could, like, have a crush on or whatever. A girl he wanted to kiss and touch and talk to; a girl to occupy his thoughts the way that boys did.

He tried and tried and tried, but no matter what picture he pulled up in his head, no matter how hot he tried to make the girl with big boobs and wet lips and a sexy smile, it was no use. He never wanted anything to do with her, not like that. He mostly wished she’d get dressed, and maybe tell him about what things she actually liked. He couldn’t fantasize about kissing her or whatever. His body didn’t react to his imagined girl the way it did when he conjured boys into his mind without prompting.

He tried so hard not to think about boys, but he did. Not just any boys. Nice boys. Good looking ones, with good hair and nice clothes and lean muscles…

Connor frowned at the way he felt himself reacting and knew he needed to redirect his thoughts. He didn’t let himself think about any guys either.

If he couldn’t make himself start liking girls, then he’d just… practice not liking boys. He didn’t know how he’d do it, but he’d find a way.

He.

Thought about guys, the sort that came to mind when he locked himself in his bedroom or bathroom and jerked off, and then pressed down hard on one of the newer, more tender cuts on his arm. Trying to associate the thought of guys with that pain.

But of course because his brain was a fucking landfill, that didn’t work. Didn’t make him less interested in jerking off or thinking about guys.

Fuck.

Connor knew he needed to figure this out.

Even if it meant holding a pillow over his face until he passed out or something. He couldn’t go on liking other guys. He was too much of a freak already.

But as he drifted off to sleep, Connor felt envy welling inside of him.

Mr. Weston was gay. He had a boyfriend. They held hands at the grocery store and talked about work.

Nobody would ever look at Connor that way, he knew that. Even if it turned out that every single guy in his school woke up tomorrow morning realizing they were super super gay, nobody would pick him. Because nobody would ever pick him, ever. And he hated how much that hurt.

* * *

Friday at school was fine.

His parents had said that if he made it through the week without any problems, they would consider lifting the ban on going to the library.

Connor had a feeling he’d fuck that up somehow, but he agreed to the terms regardless.

The day was boring. The weather had gotten a little too warm for the long sleeves he was wearing, and the air conditioner that the school usually turned on by the end of May or early June was on the fritz. So Connor was just praying that deodorant he wore was working and tried hard not to raise his hand.

He got in trouble in gym class though. Which was really the beginning of the end.

He wouldn’t take his sweatshirt off.

Even though they were going outside and it was at least eighty degrees and Connor was already sweating, he refused to ditch the hoodie he wore over his gym clothes. Mr. Bryant didn’t look amused. “Murphy, take off he sweatshirt or you’re in detention.”

Connor ignored him.

“Fine, you know what, keep it on. Lunch detention all next week. Today you’re running laps.”

So Connor ran laps while the rest of his class got to struggle through a game of softball. Connor honestly preferred the laps; he hated any variation on baseball. He was terrible at it.

The only bad thing about the laps were that 1. Everyone was watching and 2. He was getting even more sweaty and hot. But he knew he couldn’t take off the hoodie because the moment he did that he was screwed, absolutely fucked.

So he ran and ran and ran, sweat soaking the armpits of his hoodie, staining the back, but Connor didn’t care. He kept running until the bell finally rang.

He raced, still running, back to the locker room, managing to shower and change before any of the other kids got back. He didn’t care if he was in trouble, he didn’t care about anything but not getting caught.

Connor had to walk slowly to his next class, his legs and arms shaking, still not able to catch his breath. He wished he could just go home. He wished the school would fix the stupid air conditioner. He wished he hadn’t fucked up his arms so badly.

He wished he wasn’t so badly fucked up.

As he struggled to catch his breath quietly, still sweating an embarrassing amount, Connor put his head on the lab tables in his biology class.

He only looked up when he heard a soft thump on the table.

Someone had placed a cold water bottle on his desk, next to his things.

Connor looked around anxiously, certain it was a trick or a trap or something meant to mess with him.

But also he was sort of in the process of dying of heat stroke, so some water sounded amazing.

He tried to figure out who would have done it.

“Are you okay?”

Connor turned to Alana Beck, his lab partner, sitting next to him. She still had her hair all in braids. She looked a little annoyed.

“Fine. Did you see who put this here?” Connor asked, pointed.

Alana shrugged.

Connor was starting to get desperate. His throat was so dry he was scared he might puke.

He took the water bottle, praying it wasn’t a trick, and carefully unscrewed the top. Nothing bad happened.

He took a sip.

It tasted fine. Like bottled water. It was so cold that Connor had to physically stop himself from moaning in pleasure.

Who was being nice to him? And why? What the hell?

He glanced around again to see Evan Hansen turn his face to the front quickly. The back of his neck turned red.

Perfect. Now the only other loser as pathetic as Connor felt sorry for him.

Great.

He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t say anything. He was shutting up, that was all he was going to do anymore.

* * *

By the end of the day, Connor knew he was going home to get just… extra grounded. No doubt his exploits had managed to weave their way through the gossip pipeline and Zoe would know by now.

So long books.

Nice knowing you.

He'd probably get sent to military school or something stupid like that. Whatever.

Connor started to walk to the bus as school let out for the day, but he was distracted by Jake’s familiar voice, followed by Sarah and Aidan.

So, knowing he was already in trouble, Connor redirected his steps around the school buses to see where Jake and the others were hiding out.

He was surprised to see them talking to Zoe. Well. Not talking. Laughing. Probably at her.

Connor’s lip twitched. He didn’t mean it to, but it was sort of funny to see someone picking on perfect Zoe.

“Please, I didn’t do anything!” She whimpered.

“Take her guitar,” Jake said to Sarah who looked at him, annoyed. “Well _I_ can’t hit her!”

Zoe turned, her oversized guitar case on her back, but Sarah caught her easily and wrenched it away, handing it to Jake. Then she pushed Zoe to the ground, hard.

“Hey!” Connor was running at them before he’d even thought about it. “What the hell are you doing? That’s my sister!”

Jake laughed. “Oh hey Connor,” he said, smiling in a way that was too bright, too wide, too creepy to be real. “How’s it going?”

Sarah kicked Zoe as she tried to scramble away.

“What the hell?” Connor said, shoving Jake.

“You dislocated my brother’s jaw,” Jake said, still smiling. “So I figured I’d do the same to precious Zoe.”

“What?” Connor said, breathing hard, and behind him he heard Zoe crying.

And then Jake launched himself at Connor but the thing was….

Connor was faster.

And when Jake went to punch Connor, his landed awkwardly and he jumped back, clutching his hand…

The thing was. Connor actually knew _how_ to throw a punch.

He sort of stopped hearing at that moment, stopping seeing much of anything, socking Jake so hard that he watched the older boy spit blood before collapsing in a heap.

Aidan was trying to drag Sarah away, going on about how, “Murphy's lost his fucking mind man, let’s go.” And she was laughing, calling Jake a pussy, carrying on about how she’d done the dirty work, how she wasn’t afraid of a seventh grader.

But Connor rounded on them. “Did you fucking hit my sister?” He said. His voice came out a lot lower than it ever had before.

“N-no,” Sarah said, and she actually looked scared which was hilarious really, because she was at least a full head taller than Connor and had at least twenty pounds on him.

Connor could hear Zoe sobbing behind him.

Well then.

That settled it.

He tackled Sarah to the ground and ignored Aidan as he shouted that Connor _couldn’t just hit a girl._ He did it anyway, not as hard or as many times as he’d hit Jake, but still hit her until she started crying and her nose bled.

Aidan had tried to pull Connor off of her, unsuccessfully, because Connor was an immovable object, an unstoppable force, and so Connor hit Aidan too, even though as far as he saw Aidan hadn’t actually done anything but annoy him. Aidan doubled over, wheezing, and Connor hit him once more just to make sure he stayed down.

He took a deep breath.

Realized his head was throbbing. His hands were too. Zoe’s cries were mixed in with the groans and swearing of the older kids.

“If you ever touch her again,” Connor said, his voice still scarily low, “I’ll kill you.”

He walked over to Zoe, who was still crying, hiding her face. “Are you okay?” He asked.

And Zoe jumped back, shouting, “Don’t touch me!”

“Zo, hey, I’m not…” Connor took a step closer, and she scrambled to her feet, shouting, again.

“Stay away from me!” Her eyes were huge. She looked terrified, like he might pounce on her any second, like he might hit her too.

“Zoe, come _on-_ ”

“You’re… you just…” Zoe was just sobbing then, like a little kid, her face shiny and slick with tears, her nose running. She bent then, still crying, to pick up her guitar case, whimpering as she did. “Please leave me alone. Please.”

“Let me carry that, Zo, come on…” Connor said quietly, reaching out an arm to offer to take the guitar for her.

“No! Don’t _touch me!_ Don’t even look at me, psycho!”

Connor stayed back, watching as Zoe limped off, carrying her guitar case, stopping every few minutes to wipe her face. Their parents were going to absolutely murder him.

He’d scared her.

He tried to help and he’d scared her.

Fuck.

Why did he even try anymore, what was even the point?

The other kids behind him were starting to struggle to their feet.

He walked over to Jake, shoving him back to the ground.

“Hey asshole. You got any cigarettes or weed on you?” he asked.

Jake nodded meekly, reaching into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out a half smoked pack of cigarettes. “There’s two joints in there too.”

“Thanks,” Connor said sarcastically, taking out a cigarette, lighting it with the lighter shoved into the pack, and walking away.  

Fine.

Just.

Fine.

Whatever.

He’d just.

He’d just be numb. Stop feeling. For good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Novocaine by Fall Out Boy


	10. Because It All Hurts Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor decided that he wanted it to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Who I Want You To Love" by Bleachers. 
> 
>  
> 
> ******Please be aware that there is drug use, mentions of self harm, and a suicide attempt in this chapter.*****

Things you should probably avoid doing before the first day back at school after Spring Break and a week long suspension: getting high in your bedroom.

Things that Connor did anyway: got high in his bedroom.

His dad kept staring at him at breakfast, and it was literally taking all of Connor’s energy not to laugh right in his face.

His whole fucking family was terrified of him suddenly.

Which.

Great. Whatever.

At least they left him alone.

Zoe had been avoiding him since the summer, since before then, since he beat the shit out of Jake and his idiot friends last May.

No adults had found out about that.

But everyone at school knew that Connor, scrawny and thirteen, had beat a sixteen year old bloody, had hit a girl and broken her nose, had kicked the crap out of their friend so badly that he reportedly transferred out of the school district.

Everyone at school knew he was crazy.

Brian Harris had even tried to talk to Connor after that, tried to ask him if he wanted to sit with Brian and his idiots at lunch because apparently assault and battery made you cool in Brian’s book. But Connor hadn’t forgotten getting head flushed and shit talked about him behind his back for the past couple of years. So. Connor punched him, which meant he was suspended for the entire last week of the seventh grade. Which suited him fine because he hated school and everyone in it and if he actually had a way to do it, Connor didn’t doubt that he would actually blow it up.

His parents, naturally, had taken away all of his books when they grounded him indefinitely over the summer. They didn’t bother taking away his phone anymore. Apparently they finally realized that nobody ever texted him or anything so it wasn’t really much of a punishment. His mom was just nervous enough that he arguments that he would need it in an emergency seemed to override the protests from Fucking Larry. So the books were taken away, and when he didn’t shape up, all donated.

Which whatever. It wasn’t like Connor read much anymore.

Now he just smoked a lot. It occupied his mind, not exactly as well as reading, but differently. He could sort of just stop being himself when he was stoned.

He spent that summer getting high in the park. He also dog sat for a few of his neighbors, whose regular dog watcher was away on vacation. At his parents’ insistence, of course. Some shit about teaching him responsibility. Connor spent most of that money on weed, cigarettes, and a couple of books that he was able to smuggle into the house.

But mostly on weed and cigarettes.

He had just enough social capital that he could cash in on with some burn outs from the high school that he could get them to deal to him.

Whatever.

“I can’t believe you’ve already outgrown those jeans. You just got them for Christmas,” His mom said, and she was smiling but cast a worried glance over at his dad. Like he’d be pissed off that Connor had grown taller (again).

Connor wouldn’t put it past Larry.

He had grown a lot, actually. He’d been barely five feet tall at the end of the summer. But he’d grown nearly six inches since the fall semester; he towered over literally everyone but the teachers now. He also looked fucking gangly and awkward as hell, but at least he was taller than Zoe. His mom had taken to call him a beanpole. Which she probably thought was cute, but sort of made Connor want to light himself on fire. Whatever. At least he wasn’t shrimpy anymore. He figured at this point the extra height could only help him.

And there was the hair.

It was finally, like, hair again after the disastrous buzz cut from the end of last school year. It was a sort of wavy mess, but he could hide behind it again, which was all that really mattered to Connor. It fell in front of his eyes a lot, which Connor knew his dad hated. But that was good for him. Eye contact went against Shutting Up. So did wearing your glasses, so Connor’s were sitting, snapped in half somewhere at the bottom of his backpack, the result of the last time someone had dared to try to fuck with him. They’d snapped his glasses, but it didn’t get a reaction from Connor, which apparently was scarier than dislocating someone’s jaw.

His mom had taken him to get contacts about a week later, which had also pissed Larry off. But the thing was that Larry’s little tantrums didn’t bother Connor much anymore. So when he shouted about how irresponsible Connor was and how he didn’t deserve something as idiotic as contact lenses, Connor just walked out of the house. He didn’t go back home for a full day, staying out all night in the park, smoking and not sleeping. His mom got him the contacts, which was great, under the guise of them being less of a target. Connor liked them because then he had an excuse to always have eye drops on him.

His mom just seemed too scared that something would happen to him to ever tell him to knock it off. His dad was too pissed off to do more than yell. Zoe stayed as far away from him as she could while their bedrooms were next to each other.

Which was really fucking great.

His dad rumbled something about how he needed to talk to Connor before school. Which, admittedly, was a lot less scary now that Connor wasn’t almost a foot shorter than Fucking Larry.  

He followed his dad out into the garage, smirking at how badly this had gone last time, at the end of last year. He wondered if he could get away with punching his dad again.

...He was admittedly pretty fucking high.

Fucking Larry stopped, frowning, saying, “I don’t want anymore of this shit, Connor. You need to get it together.”

Connor blinked, a little confused. What had he done this time, exactly?

Oh right. Larry was probably still pissed off that Connor had gotten suspended for calling his gym teacher a fascist. He might have also thrown the book he had been reading instead of participating in some barbaric state sponsored running bullshit at Mr. Bryant, hitting him in the face and leaving him with a small cut under his eyes.

Connor had protested, while he was being hauled to the principal’s office, that it was a _paperback_ and they were all making too big of a deal out of it.

Thus the reading ban was resumed, again, but that didn’t stop Connor anymore.

“What shit are you talking about?” Connor said, faux innocently. “Could you please be more specific about the shit, dad? Maybe describe the shit?”

“Cut the crap,” Fucking Larry said. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve been suspended _three times_ since the end of last year. Your principal said you’re on thin ice. You could get _expelled_. If you don’t knock this off you’re not going to make it to high school.”

“And what a _tragedy_ that would be.”

“I’m not fucking around anymore Connor,” His dad said, his face hard. “Get it together.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Connor said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Larry grabbed him by the front of the shirt. “Knock it off. Seriously. And don’t ever let me catch you going to school high again. If your mother finds out…”

Connor raised his eyebrows. “She’ll… what? _Cry_?”

Larry looked pretty disgusted with Connor as he let him go, but Connor wasn’t terribly interested in this conversation anymore so he just shoved his hands into his pockets and started to walk out of the garage.

His dad grabbed his shoulder, stopping him, “What is the matter with you?” He said.

Connor shrugged. “Fuck if I know.”

It was the most he’d spoken in _months_. Since Christmas at least.

His own voice surprised him. It was lower than it had been last time he had noticed. Or talked. The only people he ever talked with were the high school kids who dealt to him, and that was usually just in dollar amounts.

“Just… go to school.”

Connor rolled his eyes again, but stomped out of the garage anyway.

Zoe eyed him suspiciously when he retook his seat at the table, resuming eating his cereal as if nothing had happened.

“The bus will be here any minute,” Their mom said anxiously, looking out the kitchen window.

Connor shoved away from the table, grabbing his bag, not bothering to even apologize about not putting his dishes in the sink. He used to always try to wash it out before he left for the day. He also used to do pretty much anything his mom told him to do, but. Fuck that. There was no point anymore.

So he walked out the door without even saying goodbye.

Zoe wasn’t far behind him as he walked to the end of the driveway, turned the corner, checking the time. He had at least five minutes before the bus got to the stop. He reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out cigarettes, lighting one.

“What the hell are you doing?” Zoe said from behind him.

Connor turned, eyebrows raised.

“You’re smoking!”

Connor realized, distantly, that Zoe had never actually _seen_ him smoke before. Which. Whatever. It’s not like she could actually be surprised. He didn’t really bother hiding it.

“And your eyes are all bloodshot!” Zoe accused, sounding completely shocked. “You look like _a stoner_.”

Connor blinked at her lazily. Took her fucking long enough to figure that one out. He’d been high more often than not lately.

But also he said nothing because he just didn’t talk to Zoe anymore.

“What… _why_?” She said.

Connor took a thoughtful drag on his cigarette but decided that, ultimately, it was for the best if he didn’t say anything back. He missed her sometimes, but lately he just plain hated her more. She was so fucking bitchy and annoying. It was like she tried to find ways to get him into trouble. The only thing he was looking forward to about high school was getting a year away from her.

“I’m going to tell mom,” Zoe said.

Connor shrugged.

“I’ll… I’ll tell dad!” Zoe threatened.

And Connor couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make her jaw drop. “He knows already.” His first words to her in ages, months, spent just to make her mad. It was weirdly satisfying.

Zoe’s eyebrows knit together, and for a second Connor was certain they experienced a shared thought: how the fuck was Connor still alive if their dad knew?

Connor didn’t know.

His dad probably thought smoking pot was the most masculine thing Connor could be doing these days.

Masculine. One point vocabulary word.

He was pretty sure that he actually had a vocab test that day. He knew he hadn’t studied. Whatever, his English teacher was an asshole anyway. He’d given Connor a zero on a paper the first week all because he misread the assignment (write two to three pages examining theme in _The Outsiders)._ He’d thought he was meant to write on two to three _themes_ and wrote two or three pages on each; his total paper was like ten pages long. It was a _lot_ of extra work, he found out later. He’d even cited outside sources and formatted them in MLA style. He was just desperate to get in good with this teacher, because the end of last year had made English classes miserable for him and he missed being able to disappear into a book.

But the teacher, this mouth breather called Mr. Check, had failed him because he hadn’t “followed directions.” So Connor didn’t bother handing in work in Mr. Check’s classes anymore. Even when Mr. Check chased him down during lunch and study hall, Connor would only do the bare minimum or, if he was feeling especially pissed off, he’d do no work at all and just stare off at the wall. Sometimes he’d pick at the occasional scab on his arms.

He made fewer of those too, which he credited entirely to the weed.

_Thanks weed!_

He felt like he ought to write God a thank you note for it or something.

Connor had also, pretty hilariously gotten his best grade in Mr. Check’s class on a persuasive essay about marijuana legalization. Which. Well.

At least Connor thought it was funny.

Zoe was still staring at him as the bus rolled up, and Connor tossed his cigarette to the ground, stepping it out with his toe and smirking at her. She let out a disgusted noise.

The bus routes had gotten redrawn over the summer, which meant that the bus was a lot more crowded in the mornings. Which meant Connor had sacrificed his solo seat at the start of the year. Which was a damn shame.

At least Evan Hansen never fucking talked to him so Connor could ignore everyone once he put his headphones on. If anyone asked, Connor would flip them off and let them draw their own conclusions about what kind of death metal emo school shooter bullshit he was supposedly listening to. The reality was that he was listening to an audiobook - his own little version of rebellion on the reading ban. His parents had taken away his books, but not his phone, so. He just listened to books now. When he could...

Evan Hansen was fucking crying on the bus again.

He really was a mess lately.

This kid was going to get himself murdered if he didn’t get it together. Middle school was not time to let your freak flag fly. Connor fucking knew that now.

He tried to look annoyed as hell in Evan’s general direction so that if other kids looked they would see that he wasn’t condoning crying on the fucking bus like a pussy.

Connor frowned. He didn’t want to be an asshole, but Jesus Christ. Like. Shit wasn’t easy but Evan was just making himself a target.

This girl, this redhead who was new this year, turned around and glared at Connor before saying something to Evan. Connor didn’t hear because he turned the volume on his book up and closed his eyes.

He didn’t _like_ doing this. He wasn’t actually enjoying being all callous and mean and whatever.  He knew that Evan was, like, having panic attacks a lot lately and he knew, objectively, that he should feel bad for the guy because he was a fucking mess. But.

Connor wasn’t looking to make himself more of a target.

He could only bank on appearing scary for so long before he’d have to actually punch someone again, which was scary on its own because whenever that happened it was like he just couldn’t stop himself. He had nightmares where after he beat the crap out of Jake and his friends, and Zoe left, Connor turned around and kept hitting them until there was blood everywhere, until their eyes rolled back in their heads, until their skulls were bashed in until they were dead and he killed them.

Fuck.

Connor blinked to get himself out of that line of thinking.

He couldn’t be nice to Evan because Evan was already a target.

Besides, Jared was still Evan’s friend so. No point risking that shit. Connor might be able to literally, physically shove Jared into a trash can now, but he was not going near him ever again. He wasn’t _scared._ He just fucking knew better now. Jared was a fucking snake. He’d turn on anybody if it meant not getting his ass kicked. As he had been doing most of the year to Evan, Connor noted. Not like all of the time, but Jared spent a lot more time hanging around the fringes of Brian Harris’s little group than with Evan. Though Connor doubted he ever said much. Might let people in on how nerdy and uncool Jared actually was.

Whatever.

He could feel Evan get up from the seat the moment the bus stopped, rushed off by the new girl Georgia. Connor sort of knew her from around. He knew she bought weed from the same guy that he did. It sort of surprised him that she associated herself with someone like Evan. Maybe she was like suicidal or something. Weird. Whatever.

* * *

 

Mr. Check announced to the class that with less than five weeks left of middle school for the eighth graders, they would be focusing on one final project: making a class yearbook. They were expected to design, write, and collaborate on all of the pages, and each kid would get a page to do whatever they wanted with. Apparently there was some kind of budget surplus and they decided to give the eighth graders an art project lest they risk having the budget cut for next year.

Connor thought this was literally the stupidest thing he’d ever heard of, and as Mr. Check started passing out requirements for pages, he just put his head down on his desk, deciding he was done participating for the day.

“Intending to join us, Mr. Murphy?”

He looked up and gave Mr. Check a dirty look. The sheet placed on his desk gave all of the requirements for the individual year book pages. It talked all about preserving the memories of the class, how they’d all want keepsakes once they got off to high school.

Connor didn’t want any of these assholes to remember him.

He could hear the other kids excitedly discussing their plans, leaning over each other’s desks, talking about photo collages and stuff like that. He didn’t have any pictures worth saving, any friends he wanted to recruit to take them.

He just wouldn’t do it. Whatever.

He shoved the paper away, to the edge of the desk, and put his head down again. His high was starting to wear off and he was due in lunch detention with his math teacher Mrs. Carlson, even though it was only his first day back. Something about how Connor was disrespectful when he ignored the equations on the board in favor or drawing a picture of a stick figure hanging by the neck in the corner of his text book.

Jared Kleinman had giggled when the teacher gave Connor that detention but he immediately shut up when Connor glared at him.

So at least he was still intimidating.

“Hey!”

Connor looked up from his folded arms. He wished he had some gum or something; his mouth was pretty dry.

Standing before him was that girl, Georgia, with her red hair. Connor stared at her. “What?”

“You dropped your paper.” She put it back on his desk. She was smiling. He didn’t trust people who smiled that much.

Connor rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m not doing it.”

She blinked, like she was surprised. “Oh.” She lingered maybe a moment too long before rushing back to the other side of the classroom, and Connor put his head back down. This was like the second time she’d tried to talk to him. Like a stray dog who couldn’t take a hint. Connor wished he could just hang a sign around his neck: _Unfriendly. Do Not Approach. Do Not Feed._

He just wanted everyone to piss off. He wasn’t interested in trying anymore. He just…

Whatever.

* * *

 

“Connor… I got another call about you not turning in your assignments,” His mom said tentatively, nervously, as she set out a plate of snacks for Zoe and the group of loud girls she had over after school. They were rehearsing some dance routine for the end of the year talent show, and Connor was half ready to murder them all.

He blinked at his mom, then rolled his eyes, and started toward his bedroom.

“Connor!” His mom tried, but it wasn’t commanding. It wasn’t the same as it used to be. She used to really yell at him, at both him and Zoe. She wasn’t afraid of raising her voice, of making a scene.

He turned anyway. Hoping that maybe if he just acted indifferent she would finally lose it on him and quit tiptoeing around him like he was a bomb about to go off.

He had been wracking his brain trying to figure out what made his mom so strange around him. Why she let him get away with murder these days. Why she seemed to stop caring and start acting scared.

All Connor could think of was that time Fucking Larry had lost it and slapped him across the face. She’d been weird to him ever since his dad had lost it on him last year. She seemed scared now. Scared of Connor. He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand why. He hadn’t hit Larry back, he hadn’t even gotten mad or yelled or cried or anything after. He just sat there and said nothing. And now his mom acted like he would turn around and light the house on fire if she ever told him no...

He knew why Zoe was afraid of him. On some level he understood. It made sense. He’d beat the shit out of three people, single handedly, in front of her. Zoe… it made sense.

But he didn’t get _this_.

He didn’t understand his mom’s fear. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this, but she just seemed checked out. And he wanted her to snap out of it. “ _What_ mom?” he tried to sound snotty, to sound like an asshole, to piss her off.

“Why aren’t you doing your homework?” She asked, her face falling, looking at him with these big, lost, helpless looking eyes.

“I don’t feel like it.”

If this had been a year ago, he could have expected his mom to snap at him, say something like “well then I hope you don’t feel like eating” before sending him to bed without dinner and grounding him. He would have expected punishment, or if not that, an impassioned plea to understand why he didn’t just do the damn homework when they both knew he was smart enough to have it finished by now. But now his mom just sighed. Now she just looked tired. Now she looked like she had lost some fight that he hadn’t even been aware she was in.  “Connor. Please. Could you just…. Do it?”

It was starting to piss him off. Why didn’t she get mad at him anymore? Didn’t she care? Had she stopped caring?

The thought made his breathing catch for just a second. He had been trying so hard to keep himself from thinking, from feeling, like this especially. It was too hard. He shouldn’t have risked coming downstairs without smoking first or something.

He looked at his mom, stupidly, helplessly, and realized that he’d made her hate him. Somewhere in the last year, he had made her hate him too… just like his dad, just like Zoe. Only… with Zoe or his dad he knew why they hated him. But his mom?

She’d always been the person who was the kindest to him. The most understanding. The one who would pet his hair if he got upset and who had tried and tried to help.

And suddenly she didn’t care. Because she hated him.

Fuck.

Fuck.

They really were going to throw him out of the house if he got in any more trouble at school. They really were going to get rid of him somehow and it was entirely his fault…

Connor blinked.

He bit his lip. “Fine. I’ll do my fucking homework,” he muttered and she gave him this pale impression of a smile and watched him carefully as he climbed up the stairs, glancing back at her a few times.

 

* * *

When he got to school on Tuesday, Connor opened his locker and was mildly surprised to see a note apparently shoved into the grate.

He sighed, unfolding it and fully expecting that it was meant for someone else’s locker. He didn’t get notes from people.

The note read, “School without you was nice last week. Make it permanent. Kill yourself.”

Connor sighed and crumpled it into a ball.

The fact was that he knew the handwriting. He also knew that bringing this shit to the teachers would do nothing. Like somehow he’d end up in the school psychologist’s office to talk about wanting to die but the writer would get off with a detention. No thanks.

He threw the note out. Decided to ignore it. Again.

He wasn’t able to fight it so.

He just.

Just put his head down in his algebra class and wished that he had played dumb last year so he wouldn’t feel actually dumb now. He wasn’t _good_ with algebra. He couldn’t understand the point of a lot of it, but he’d done well enough in pre-algebra last year that they stuck him in the class that started algebra one before they started high school. And he was utterly lost within the first two weeks. And then he was totally stoned for a while. And now there was really no going back. The school year was almost over. He hadn’t been paying attention for so long that it seemed stupid to try now.

On his placement test, they told him that he’d have to repeat algebra as a freshman. Which suited Connor just fine, because he didn’t fucking plan on caring in high school either.

The teacher in this class had called Evan Hansen up to the board to solve an equation with the quadratic formula.

He suspected that Mrs. Carlson would get along well with his dad, because her approach to learning that Evan Hansen had panic attacks when called on was to call on him all of the time. Like she thought she could scare him out of his anxiety.

Which was a dick move, in Connor’s mind.

But he didn’t say anything, just kept his head down. He was trying not to get suspended again.

At the board Evan fumbled with a marker at the whiteboard, shoulders hunched, the back of his neck turning progressively red. He hadn’t even written anything yet, which surprised Connor a little since he was pretty sure Evan had gotten an A on their quiz on quadratic equations last week. Connor had gotten an C-. Which was great for him, since you needed to have a parent sign your tests if you got a D or worse. If Connor could coast through the rest of the year on C minuses, he’d get through middle school after all.

“Hey, Mrs. Carlson? Is he okay?”

Connor turned, surprised to see Jared daring to say something.  To a teacher. In front of everyone.

“While I appreciate your concern, Jared, Evan can do this problem without your help.”

“Seriously, Mrs. Carlson, I don’t think-”

There was a wheeze from the front of the room. Connor wondered if it made him a bad person because he knew exactly what was happening but wasn’t doing anything about it. Wasn’t saying anything. Was just kinda pretending this wasn’t happening, ignoring it as best he could because he just didn’t need to single himself out and it wasn’t like he’d get anything other than disdain in return if he stood up for Evan.

“Mrs. Carlson, I think he should go to the nurse…” Alana this time, her voice sounding strained.

“Thank you for your opinion, Alana, but I think that Evan will be fine if he just gets on with the-”

But Evan had turned around, and everyone could see that he was crying, and within the second Jared had made a noise of disgust and followed him when Evan ran out of the room.

A lot of the other kids laughed.

Alana stared hard at her desk, looking half like she might cry.

Jesus. All of these crying people.

Connor watched as Mrs. Carlson carried on with the class like nothing had happened, not even acknowledging that she’d just let a kid run out of the room crying and another follow him out. She solved the equation slowly, calling on random kids as she did, asking for the next steps.

“Connor,” She said, grinning wolfishly. “What do you do next?”

He shrugged. “No idea.”

“Come on, people, you’ve got to actually try. They won’t let you just whine your way out of the work in high school. Connor, seriously, I know you know this. What do you do next?”

He shrugged again. “Realize you’ll never use algebra outside of school and do something else?”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Detention, after school.”

Connor rolled his eyes back.

* * *

 

In Mrs. Carlson’s detention that afternoon, Connor was surprised to see that Evan and Jared were also in with him. Mrs. Carlson was just making them work on their math homework, so it wasn’t such a bad detention in Connor’s opinion. He’d had to sit through worse; like the time that Mr. Check made him sit there, doing nothing, while he read Connor’s last essay out loud in front of all of the other kids in detention, making comments as he went along, projecting a digital copy on the board where he highlighted sentences he thought were particularly badly written.

So really staying late and working on his math wasn’t so bad even if he was totally lost about how to solve most of the equations.

Of course to look at Jared and Evan, you’d think it was a lot worse. Evan’s face was still all botchy. Connor half expected him to run out of the room crying. He’d probably never ever had a detention before. Jared kept shooting glances at Evan that Connor might have thought were concerned looks if he didn’t know better. Now he was sure he was just trying to get Evan to knock it off and quit freaking out at school.

Connor might have felt bad for Jared a little if Jared weren't’ such a prick. It would probably be hard to be friends with someone who was a walking, talking, _crying_ target. Evan wasn’t like doing it on purpose, but he obviously wasn’t making anything easier for Jared.

But then again, Connor would have felt bad for Evan too, if Evan weren’t friends with an asshole like Jared. If he’d ever told Jared to not be a dick to Connor. If he’d ever said anything about the fact that he knew Jared was the one putting the notes in Connor’s locker. If he’d ever done anything nicer than sticking a water bottle on Connor’s desk, then Connor might have felt sorry for the guy. But Evan hadn’t, so Connor didn’t.

And so he didn’t say anything. Just worked on his fucking math, wishing Mrs. Carlson would like… choke on her husband’s dick and miss the rest of the school year because she was really a cunt. Wishing he wasn’t like the worst possible person in the world, because otherwise he might have said something nice to Evan… wishing he didn’t actually want to be different because it made whatever the hell he was so much harder to be.

Lately all he thought about when he wasn’t stoned was a way out.

But he was too scared.

He wished he could just get hit by a bus or something. Get sick, get cancer, get shot when a crazy person decided to hold up a convenience store. He wished he could just take a bow and exit without it being his own fault. Which he knew was stupid. He knew it was dumb. He knew how stupid it was to just wish you could drop dead. But that didn’t stop him. Didn’t stop him from taking stupid risks. Cutting but not cleaning the cuts. Riding around on his bike after dark without a helmet or a light. Lighting matches and letting them burn down to the tips of his fingers before blowing them out. Wondering how it would feel if he lit himself on fire. Himself. His house. If he burned it all down. If he burned it all down, until there was nothing left but ash.  

Would he even feel it? Sometimes it was like he felt so much that it all went numb.

Like someday he was an exposed nerve, a tooth with a cavity, a burn open to the air. Uninterrupted pain.

And then others he was just blank. Nothing. Not even there. Not even sure if he was real.

He knew this made him crazy. He knew.

So he just…

He knew it would be better for everyone if he just took himself out of the equation. But he didn’t know how to do it. He didn’t know if he could do that. He was too scared. Felt too guilty.

On his way out of detention, Connor heard Jared mutter something to Evan, something like “get your shit together.”

And Connor frowned.

Man, Jared was seriously an asshole.

And as soon as Jared and Evan were gone, and the hall was deserted, Connor stopped at his own locker. He had a sharpie in his bag, and he thought for a moment. On the front of his own locker, double checking that there was nobody around to see and no cameras to catch him, he imitated Jared’s messy handwriting. He wrote “FAG” in big letters, then drew a dick under it.

He rushed back to Mrs. Carlson’s classroom, shoving the sharpie into his bag, making sure to look upset. “Mrs. Carlson!” He said, making sure his voice cracked. “I-I think Jared wrote something on my locker… I went to the bathroom before I was going to leave -and-and-.”

She got up from her desk, looking irritated, and followed Connor to his locker. He tried his best to look mortified and shocked as Mrs. Carlson’s eyes went big. “That does… look like his handwriting.”

“I…. I…” Connor was doing his best to make sure he looked humiliated, make this teacher buy it. He even managed to make his eyes tear up a little.

“Calm down Mr. Murphy. I’ll contact the janitor, see if we can’t get this off of your locker by morning.” Mrs. Carlson frowned. “I’ll have to call his parents… He’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

“No!” Connor said, trying to look scared. “Please I don’t want him to be more mad at me-”

“He’s defaced school property, Mr. Murphy, and it’s not up to you how we punish him.”

“But-”

“Enough. It’s the end of the day, you should head home.”

He stared after her for a minute, then turned. Smirking.

 

The next day Jared got detention for two weeks. His parents were called. Apparently they threatened to not let him walk at graduation.

He might have tried to trip Connor in the halls, but it was totally worth it. Because the notes stopped. For a while.

* * *

 

At night it was hard to sleep. Had been for weeks now, since he went back to school. He didn’t know how serious his dad was about shipping him off somewhere if he got kicked out Weatherby Middle School, but Connor wasn’t exactly keen to find out. All of the options Larry had laid out sounded equally worse than being here. So he was trying not to get suspended again. But that meant actually going to school, which meant sleepless nights.

Plus, Connor was nearly out of weed and his allowance had been suspended since he was still grounded from the suspension two weeks back.

Since it  late, he figured he was fine to sneak out of his room. He walked into the kitchen, just planning on stealing a beer or something from the fridge since he couldn’t even fucking sleep, and then he realized his mom’s purse was still out.

She probably had some money in there...

Connor blinked.

He loved his mom. Even though she hated him now... He never wanted to… upset her on purpose.

He didn’t want to hurt her.

But also, like…

Fuck her.

Seriously fuck his mom.

Fuck her for being scared to talk to him, scared to touch him, scared to stand up for him. Connor knew he didn’t know anything, but even then he knew that moms were supposed to look out for their kids. And he knew she had stopped. And he knew it was his own damn fault, for lying to her, for saying he was fine when he wasn’t, but part of him still blamed her. How could she not know? She was his mom for fuck’s sake.

He walked to the purse and extracted the wallet, frowning. There was like a hundred dollars in there, all in twenties. What was she carrying all of this cash around for?

Connor pocketed a twenty dollar bill, and then closed the wallet and the purse back up. He didn’t want to take money from his mom… but it wasn’t like she couldn’t get _more_ money. She probably wouldn’t even notice. They were exactly the sort of family who had enough money that twenty dollars didn’t make or break much.

Feeling a little bit guilty, Connor headed back up the stairs. He texted Zack, the guy from the high school who he usually bought from and glanced at the clock. It was only midnight. It wasn’t that late….

He got a text. “I’ll be at the park in 15.”

Connor sighed, put his phone in his pocket, and grabbed his shoes. He had to be careful not to set off the motion activated lights out in the front of his house, but this wasn’t the first time he’d had to sneak out of his parents’ house at this time of night. It only took him a few minutes before he was out of the house, out of the driveway, and heading off to the park in the neighborhood. The same one he used to play at with Zoe when they were little. The same one they went to the last time they could stand to look at each other.

Or well. The last time Zoe could stand to look at him.

He ended up buying off of Zack and then sticking around the park, smoking a joint on the swingset and enjoying the way the stars were out for a change.

He started when he heard footsteps.

That girl Georgia stepped into the light of the streetlamp. “You’re Connor, right?”

He nodded.

“Well. Be polite.” She held her hand out, and he passed her the joint. She took a puff and passed it back, taking a seat on the other swing. They didn’t talk, just shared the joint.

“What are you doing out here?” She asked him eventually.

Connor shrugged.

“Don’t your parents…?”

He shrugged again. “You?”

She sighed, taking the joint back. “They don’t give a shit about me.”

He nodded. That he understood. When he passed the joint back to her, he could see she’d pulled her sleeve up. She had a bunch of cuts on her arms.

Connor looked away. It was like looking in a distorted mirror. He didn’t like it.

“You’re the one with a dick drawn on your locker, right?”

Connor glared.

“Jared Kleinman was almost barred from walking at graduation over that,” She said conversationally.

Connor didn’t move.

“Nice work. That kid’s a prick.”

Connor raised his eyebrows suspiciously.

“I hang out with Evan sometimes. We’re neighbors. Jared’s a dick to him, like, all of the time.”

Connor nodded. He took the joint back from him, took a hit, and then dropped it to the ground before it burnt his fingers. “How’d you know?”

Georgia smiled. “Jared’s too scared of getting caught to pull that. He just sticks notes in lockers.”

Connor stared. “You too?”

“The last one called me fugly. He’s such a moron.”

Connor almost laughed, but didn’t.

“You could sit with me at lunch sometime,” Georgia said suddenly.

“Why would I do that?”

“Better than reading alone.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “No. It’s not.”

“What are you doing that stupid yearbook thing for Mr. Check’s class?”

Connor shrugged. “Nothing, probably.”

“I was thinking I’d write my suicide note, wait until the books get published, then hang myself at the front of the classroom.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Stupid. There’s nothing to hang yourself from.”

“I know. Such a bummer.”

Connor almost grinned.

* * *

 

The next morning he found another “kill yourself” note shoved into his locker.

He wondered what Jared would think if Connor told him that he wanted to kill himself. Would he laugh? Would he tell Connor how much of a freak he was? Connor knew he was a freak, but he wanted to see how Jared took that news. Fear. Anger. Amusement.

How did normal people take that news?

Connor only knew how his mom had taken it, and well she was his _mom_ so she had to tell him she was worried and sorry.

Connor crumpled up the newest note and took out his math book. On top of it, he found a book with a bright green cover, called _The Perks of Being a Wallflower._

Inside there was a note that read, “Return whenever you’re finished. GS.” It was followed by a locker combination.

Connor blinked in surprise.

But he was a little bit desperate to have _something_ so he shoved the book into his bag and planned to read it at lunch.

 

* * *

 

The two days Connor spent reading _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_ were his best in months. He made himself read slowly, getting lost, getting sucked into the world of this loner as he gained friends slowly but surely. He was rationing it, like someone on a desert island because he didn’t know how much longer he would go without getting his hands on a book, a real book.

He liked the story. A lot.

The bit with Charlie’s sister hurt to read. He had to put the book down for a while because of how much he felt it.

With the sister saying she hated him and that he was a freak.

Connor bit his lip until it bled reading that.

His eyes followed Zoe around all night at home, wondering what he would do if a guy ever hit her, what he would do if they ever talked like Charlie and his sister. He knew Charlie was the youngest and things were different, but sometimes. Sometimes Connor felt like he wasn’t getting any older. Like maybe he stopped at age twelve and while everyone else was rocketing toward being a real teenager, Connor was stalled out because he was never meant to make it this far, this long. Like he was supposed to have died years ago but the world had forgotten him so he kept going but he never got older or better (though he did get bigger).

He rationed the book to save it and also to save himself that pain.

Connor wasn’t naive. He knew it was highly unfuckinglikely that he’d meet anyone at his new high school who would take him under their wing like Sam and Patrick. That he’d find anyone to get stoned with, any pretty girl or boy who’d kiss him to because they wanted his first kiss to come from someone who loved him.

Because nobody loved him.

Connor knew that.

Like maybe his mom did, but that was different. She had to.

But for two days, Connor let himself get lost, daydream, imagine a world where someone, anyone nice and kind would notice him. Invite him to a diner. To a party. Hell, even to do extra English assignments like Charlie’s teacher. He just.

Connor needed something.

But he knew it wasn’t real. None of this was real.

So escaped into it for as long as he could.

And when he read the end.

Well.

It was sort of like being punched in the gut. Even though the ending was happy… Charlie was still alone. Perhaps now more so since he had experienced being not alone.

And Connor felt that way.

Like the fact that once upon a time he had been a little more normal, a little less of a freak, that once Zoe could stand the sight of him and Jared Kleinman laughed at his stupid jokes just made the fact that nobody talked to him worse.

Just so much worse.

But it didn’t make him feel infinite. It made him feel shitty. Like infinitely shitty.

It was probably stupid that a book that made him feel so happy and hopeful was ultimately the last straw, but it was.

Connor finished it, finished reading Charlie’s last letter, and it was like it all clicked into place.

Happiness didn’t last for him.

Hope was hopeless.

He was hopeless.

So he decided he was done.

He was so keyed up, so ready at that very moment that if he had means he probably would have just done it then.

But he didn’t. He’d hidden away that knife and it was the middle of the night and he hadn’t decided if he was leaving a note yet or not so.

He figured.

He would give himself a week. Last week. Until he finished middle school. Just to give his mom a good week. Just to get some stuff in order.

 

* * *

Field Day was some kind of experiment meant to torture kids without athletic ability into killing themselves, Connor decided.

Joke was on them though. He was already planning to do that.

It was hot as hell, but he kept his hoodie on defiantly, and ignored the way that the teachers tried to convince him to join in the idiocy of the activities: soccer games and kickball and a water balloon toss and a three legged race. He managed to sneak away for a while, into the woods beyond the school, to smoke a cigarette and watch all of the morons in his class run around screaming like idiots, but eventually Fascist Mr. Bryant spotted him hanging around the treeline and forced Connor into line for a relay race that he had no intention of running.

It was hot and stupidly sunny and he had a headache from being outside. He moved sluggishly when they handed the idiotic baton to him for the stupid race but managed not to lose the lead for the line he was in.

Hours dragged by. Some teacher spotted him and told him to take off his hoodie before

he overheated. Another one told him to get more sunblock from Mr. Check. He didn’t do either. He’d rather be sunburnt or pass out of heat stroke than talk to any of these assholes.  

He slunk off to find some shade beneath one of the trees around the school, hoping not to attract attention.

“Hey, Murphy!”

He looked up suspicious. He was surprised to see Georgia Stern approaching, dragging Evan Hansen, red faced, by the wrist. “Want to sign Evan’s shirt? He’s worried that nobody will sign it.”

Connor stared. If possible, Evan’s face went even redder. He was staring at the ground.

Connor sighed.

There were only five days left of middle school.

Maybe. If he did this.

Maybe…

He got up, took the Sharpie from Georgia’s hand, and signed the back of Evan’s shirt. “There.”

“Thanks,” Evan mumbled.

“Yeah.”

* * *

 

He returned Georgia’s book to her locker that day, with a post-it saying a simple thank you.

For his yearbook assignment, Connor turned in a list of his ten favorite books.

* * *

 

Somehow.

Within even meaning to.

He was done with middle school. His mom ended up needing to buy him a whole new outfit because he’d outgrown all of the dress clothes she had bought him in the midst of some bar mitzvah season brain fever last fall. When she assumed incorrectly that he had friends.

He didn’t expect to make it this far.

Or maybe he just sort of hoped he wouldn’t.

So he planned to just stop.

He decided he was done now. He was just done.

He had a plan.

He’d graduate. Let his parents have that.

And then he was done.

The day of the ceremony, Connor was off school. Zoe still had to go. The eighth grade finished the week before everyone else.

There was a dance following the ceremony, but Connor intended to ditch. He doubted his mom would let him skip if he asked so he’d just hang around behind the school, maybe get high, and wait it out. When he got home, he’d finish the job.

They were at the mall, Connor and his mom. The only thing more pathetic than shopping for a suit you’d wear exactly once was shopping for a suit with your mother. She seemed to have determined that the whole experience would some kind of mother-son bonding scenario, which mostly just gave Connor a stomach ache. Whether it was guilt he didn’t know. He just didn’t want to be here, but he was trying for his mom.

He didn’t want to be in this store, in this mall, in this town, this state, this country, continent, planet.

_When you don’t belong everything feels like a task._

Connor thought he ought to write that down. Save it for his headstone or something.

He figured having a suit meant that at least they’d have something to put him in when they put in him the ground.

His mother was nattering on about how it was a good thing they were suit shopping anyway, because none of Connor’s jeans fit him anymore. Which had been going on for weeks, but now suddenly it was something worth addressing.

He kind of wished it would stop, the growing.

He kind of wished everything would stop.

So he was stopping it.

He kept forgetting.

He shouldn’t be surprised that he was bad at this too. He was bad at everything.

“What do you think of this shirt?” his mom said, holding out a buttondown.

“Fine.”

“Connor, come on. Do you like it?”

He shrugged. “I guess. I don’t care.”

“Honey. Come on. You’re graduating tonight. You’re going to start high school. Can you muster up a little bit of enthusiasm?”

Connor sighed. Tried to smile for her, even though it felt totally wrong on his face. “Yeah, mom. It’s great.”

She patted his cheek. “I know things have been tough honey. But I am excited for you. And proud of you. You’re going to like high school, I’m sure of it.”

Connor didn’t have the heart to tell her he wouldn’t make it there, so he let her cart him around. They got him a new suit, shirt, and shoes. He already had a striped tie at home that he could wear. He thought it was a lot of shopping for something that he would be wearing a cap and gown over for most of the night.

His mom also bought him some new black jeans, a new pair of sneakers, and a couple more hoodies. She seemed to have it in her head that shopping was all he needed to “feel better.”

They were driving home after a stop at Starbucks (his mom even let him get an iced coffee which his dad would never do) when his mom looked over at him and said, smiling, “I know your dad has been saying that you need to cut your hair… but I think it looks nice. And I want you to know that I talked to him, and I told him that it’s your body and you can do what you like with it.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean I can pierce my tongue?” He said, sarcastically.

His mom laughed. He hadn’t seen her do that in forever. “When you’re eighteen, go right ahead if you want.”

“Thanks mom,” he said, rolling his eyes, and she smiled and laughed and he tried to smile back at her.

He figured it would make it better for her in the long run.

* * *

 

Connor hated pictures being taken of him. This past Christmas he even managed to dodge out of Zoe’s insistence that they all take a family photo in front of the tree. He just rolled his eyes and walked away when she pointed the camera at him.

He just didn’t like pictures of himself. They always seemed to distort and amplify his worst features. His weird eyes, big teeth, big ears, big nose. He hated the way he looked in mirrors, and the camera just seemed to make everything worse.

So naturally graduation was a nightmare. Connor and his mom. Connor and Zoe. The whole family, taken by his Aunt Christine who had come down for the graduation ceremony. She’d never seemed to express any explicit liking for Connor, but she drove down to the graduation and gave him a card for ten dollars.

A waste.

This whole thing was a fucking waste.

Connor wasn’t planning to continue being alive for much longer, so the whole act of everyone documenting this event felt kind of… funny. Ironic. Stupid.  

Zoe didn’t want to take a picture with him, and when Connor said that was fine he didn’t want one with her either, their mom snapped at them both to shut up and took extras. Connor doubted any of them were worth saving.

His dad didn’t hug him when they met in the gym after the ceremony. He didn’t ask for a photo either, which made Connor sort of relieved. His grandparents hadn’t made it - it was only middle school, after. Which was fine by Connor. Being around them always made him feel uncomfortable.

After about ten pictures, Zoe fled to go hug her friends from jazz band.

Connor wondered if it would be the last time he ever saw her.

He tried to be sad about it. Or angry. Or anything.

He wasn’t.

His mom left him at the dance with a kiss on the cheek. He hugged her extra tight, extra long because he thought she needed. Would need it.

Connor ditched the dance almost immediately, the second the music started blaring and the teachers hit the lights. He shuffled out of the gym, down the hall, and came out behind the school, walking out to the field where they held outdoor gym classes. He had managed to sneak his cigarettes with him, but not the joint he had saved. He figured he could smoke that once he got home. Before he…

Connor walked around the field, smoking, taking in the night sky. This far out in the suburbs you could see most of the stars. When he was little, he and Zoe had stayed overnight in the city at his Aunt Christine’s while their parents went to a wedding, and the pair of them had been alarmed to discover the lack of stars in the city’s night sky. All of the lights of the buildings were pretty, and the moon shone through, but the stars were mostly absent. Curled up together on their Aunt’s pull out couch that night, Zoe had told Connor all about how they were going to have to become astronauts who figured out who had taken the stars.

“Like space cops?” He had asked, because he hated playing cops and robbers. He prefered to play magic or even house.

“No. More like space detectives,” Zoe had said, nodding to herself in the half dark living room.

Connor exhaled smoke and watched it as it disappeared into the air.

He tried to tell himself not to be scared.

He didn’t know how not to be, though.

He knew things sucked and they weren’t getting better. He knew he was tired and didn’t think he could go on anyway.

But there was something about the unknown of all of it that terrified him.

It made him wish he had something that could do it for him.

Something that made his fingers shake less.

* * *

 

He managed to sneak back into the dance as he heard the DJ announce the last song. People were hugging each other on the dancefloor, some crying, lots of “I’ll miss you”s and the sort of sad sack sappy shit that happened only at graduations. Connor didn’t exactly understand what everyone was all emotional about. He was pretty certain that, like, all but two people were planning to go to the same local high school. Most of them would still have classes together come September.

There was nothing to be crying about.

Connor hung back toward the wall of the gym, watching as everyone slow danced to the last song. He could see Georgia Stern and Evan Hansen hanging back a few feet down, talking quietly.

As the lights came up, Connor could see his mom across the gym. And in a moment of totally stupidity he thought she’d probably like it if he looked like he had any friends. So he walked over to Evan and Georgia and mumbled, “Have a good summer.”

And Georgia’s arm shot out, catching his, saying, “God, I didn’t tell you.” Like they talked ever. Like they were friends. “I’m moving.”

“Oh.”

“Do you have facebook? I’ll add you.”

Connor nodded vaguely even though he didn't actually have a facebook, waved at Evan, and walked away. Back across the gym to his mom. She smiled really wide and asked him who he was talking to.

“Are those your friends?”

She sounded so hopeful.

“Sorta,” He lied. “Evan and Georgia.”

His mom nodded, started talking about how he was welcome to invite them over any time he wanted this summer, how tomorrow he could sleep in late but after that he was going to have to try to get up at a reasonable time since she didn’t want his sleep schedule getting altered like he had last summer. She chatted happily, breezily, and Connor knew the sound of relief when he heard it.

She was relieved.

He was finally acting normal enough for her.

If only he had figured it out sooner.

* * *

 He stayed up until midnight talking with his mom in the kitchen. She insisted on him rehashing all of the details about the dance… the dance which he had mostly skipped, choosing to stay outside and chainsmoke instead. He told her what the girls were wearing once they took off their caps and gowns, how there were a few boys who had already grown too tall for their clothes from last year’s bar mitzvah season. He said that Evan didn’t really like dancing so they spent a lot of the time hanging out by the wall, just talking about their summers. He mentioned that Georgia was moving away, but that she wanted to add Connor on facebook.

Eventually his mom sent him off to bed, and he gave her another hug because even though he knew he was doing the right thing he was still fucking scared and wanted his fucking mom. She kissed his cheek (he was too tall for her to kiss him on the top of his head like she used to now – he’d always thought she was so tall before).

Then he went up to his room.

Grabbed the joint from his desk.

And the knife.

He changed out of the suit, putting on some jeans and that old t-shirt his dad hated so much. Didn’t bother with sleeves. Figured he wouldn’t need them.

Locked himself in the bathroom.

He smoked first. Until he was properly high. Until he wasn’t scared anymore.

Debated if he ought to leave a note.

Decided against it.

Pulled out the knife.

He felt his heart speed up a little bit when he saw the blood.

But then it passed.

* * *

 

“Oh god damn it Connor.”

He blinked.

He didn’t feel good.

His head was spinning, his stomach felt sick, like he’d had a terrible headrush, like he’d ridden a roller coaster and now his insides were scrambled.

He was alive.

His dad was staring at him.

“Shit, now what are you doing?”

He mumbled something, he wasn’t exactly sure. Looked around. There was some blood on the floor. His wrists ached…

He hadn’t done it right, he hadn’t managed it, he hadn’t-

“Come on, get up,” His dad said, frowning, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him bodily onto the lid of the closed toilet seat. “Jesus, Connor,” his dad said, frowning, going into the medicine cabinet. His dad was cleaning up his wrists, ignoring the wincing and hisses of pain, wrapping them up in a small amount of gauze.

“Connor… look. Suicide is a quitter’s way out. You can’t do that, okay? You’re not going to do that.”

Connor stared.

“Listen, I won’t tell your mom about this alright? I won’t even mention the pot. Just… just get it together, yeah?” His dad finished bandaging up his wrists. His eyes stilled for just a moment on the collection of cuts and scabs. “You’re lucky you don’t need stitches.”

Connor stared at him.

“It’s early. Go back to bed, I’ll clean all of this up.”

Connor didn’t move. “I… I want to die,” he said, his throat dry, his voice hoarse. “I tried to kill myself.”

His dad sighed. “Just get some sleep. You’ll feel better after a few hours not passed out in the bathroom.”

Connor didn’t move.

It seemed like something, anything else should be happening.

“Come on kid, I’ve got to shower and get ready for work still.”

Connor nodded. Stood up. Stepped gingerly over the puddle of blood.

He hadn’t done it right. He’d fucked it up. He…

He could hear his mom downstairs, making coffee. Zoe would be up soon for school, since she had to go for the rest of the week.

He could run down there now. Tell them all. Beg for help.

He could slink off to his room… the knife was still in his pocket. He could do it, try again.

Finally make it all stop.

Connor went into his room.

And almost immediately there was a knock at the door.

He turned to see Zoe standing there, awkwardly, frowning. “Mom said not to wake you but…” She rolled her eyes. “Look I was supposed to give you this yesterday and I didn’t because I was pissed off that mom took you shopping. So. Sorry or whatever. I don’t even think you’ll like it, and it’s probably like super babyish or whatever, but I found it in the sale bin so…”

She put a book down on his desk.

Connor stared. “Thank… thank you?”

“Don’t make it weird,” Zoe said, sighing. “See you later or whatever.” She hurried off, like maybe somehow his freakishness was catching.

Connor walked over to his desk and saw that there was a copy of _The Little Prince._

Zoe couldn’t have known that it was on his list of his ten favorite books.

She _couldn’t_ have known it was still a favorite of his.

But she got it for him.

Connor had a choice… he could take out the knife. Try again.

He could rush downstairs and show his mom what he had done.

Or he could crawl into bed and relive a happier time, reading this book. The most unexpected thing to happen to him in a while.

Connor was tired.

So he crawled in bed. He bit his lip, pulled the covers up high, and propped himself up on his pillows, book in hand. He read and read and read until his eyes got too tired.

Then he closed his book.

Closed his eyes.

Slept.

* * *

* * *

It was stupid for him to be thinking about that now.

He knew this.

He was too old to be thinking back on all of his middle school failures. Too old to dwell on it. But he did. He thought about all of the little stabs and slights and Jared Kleinman's broken glasses and the piles of books and that girl Georgia who moved away. She had died last year; killed herself. He thought about all of it, about how none of those people had ever cared, about how he didn't fucking care right back. Too old. He'd always been a bit of a baby about things. 

He anxiously tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. 

Zoe was ignoring him across the table. He couldn’t remember the last time they even talked. She hadn’t visited him the whole time he was shut away at rehab this summer.

Being sober was fucking stupid, but it was sort of nice not to be constantly worried about withdrawals. That was pretty much all half assed sobriety had gotten him.

Connor’s head ached. He scratched idly at his arm.

Shouldn’t have gotten high before coming downstairs.

Should have fucking died years ago.

His mom was losing it on him already. “It’s your senior year, Connor, you’re not missing the first day!”

“I already said I’d go tomorrow,” He shot back, sarcastic, “I’m trying to find a compromise here.”

He was such an asshole to his mom now. It was almost like a reflex. Defensive or something.

He should probably feel bad about that.

Connor knew he was a bad person. He had known since he was thirteen. He had known since that first failed try, the one his dad never talked about, the one he never talked about.

Connor knew he was a bad person.

Certainly a bad person.

So much worse than reading his little sister’s diary or making his mom cry or making his dad angry.

He was bad. Wrong. Angry, all the time. Seeking oblivion all of the time.

So, the morning of his first day of senior year he decided he would stop being a person. For good. For real this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it, folks. 
> 
> You can read this ending two ways: In one, Connor goes home after his first day of senior year and attempts suicide only to be caught, thus launching the events of The Desperate Type. 
> 
> In the other, Connor and Evan have their moment in the computer lab, and Connor goes home and commits suicide. 
> 
> Like I said, either way this story doesn't have a happy ending. Thank you for sticking with me. Lots of love.

**Author's Note:**

> So the book Connor is in the middle of reading, if you didn't catch it, is Laurie Halse Anderson's Speak. I think he would related to Melinda Sordino A LOT. He and Jared are reading Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson for class, and it is 100% intended to make Jared Kleinman cry. Also yeah I threw shade at Jacob Have I Loved (also Katherin Paterson, bless). I hated that book in 7th grade, and I hate it now as a 26 year old with insurance and rent to pay. 
> 
> Also so far the hardest bit for me is trying not to let Connor swear too much? Because thirteen year olds probably don't swear as much as I do. 
> 
>  
> 
> Shout out to everyone who has made me feel famous recently. I assure you that I wrote most of this in my underwear eating ramen noodles while avoiding my responsibilities. You're all too kind, and now everyone knows I am a goat. 
> 
> I want to give an extra super special shout out to Syn who chatted with me into the wee hours of the morning about headcanons for middle school!Connor and for this fic that were so painful they made me cry and make a few sad animal noises.


End file.
